


Space

by cosette141



Category: Psych
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Shawn Whump, Shules, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosette141/pseuds/cosette141
Summary: Now that Juliet knows Shawn's secret, she tells him she needs space. Unsure of what to do, Shawn decides to find some space for himself. But when Shawn stumbles into trouble and ends up missing, will his friends figure out he's in real trouble before it's too late?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is just an idea I'd been thinking about. It takes place after the episode "Right turn or Left for Dead". I don't own Psych, just throwing around an idea and seeing what happens ;) lemme know what you think! (Some of my information from Shawn's past might not match up, sorry haha).
> 
> ~cosette141

2001

Shawn stared out the window. He pulled his beat-up baseball cap down lower over his eyes. Clouds gathered in the sky. A storm was coming. It might even delay his escape.

Shawn descended the steps of the city bus and walked down the sidewalk. He thrust his hands in his pockets, trying to thaw his freezing fingers. He looked ahead, barely taking notice of anyone or anything around him. Everything felt like a blur .

Shards of recent memories burned in his mind. He never had the best relationship with his father, but tonight, things changed for good. Shawn couldn't stand to live with the man who drove his mother out of their family, the man who arrested his own son, the man who worked tirelessly to ruin his son's life.

Shawn fought any emotion. He didn't want to feel, so he didn't. He felt nothing at all. Nothing but a lingering desire to get the hell out of Santa Barbara.

_"You can't run from your life, Shawn."_

Henry's voice echoed in Shawn's head, but Shawn forced it away. He clutched his drawstring bag tighter. Shawn walked into the airport and weaved through the crowd of people. Shawn flinched as echoes of the argument with his dad flitted through his mind.

Somewhere in the back of Shawn's mind, he had a fleeting realization that there were twenty-four hats in the airport terminal. A certain anger crept into Shawn. What did that  _gift_ even mean anymore? What did it  _ever_ mean?

Approaching the ticket desk, Shawn handed the woman his credit card and asked for the next flight to Miami. The woman's gaze flicked down at him and back to his eyes. Her eyebrow slowly hitched upward.

"What?" snapped Shawn.

"Luggage?" the woman asked hesitantly.

"Don't need any." muttered Shawn as the woman handed him a ticket. When he took it, she didn't let go. He met her eyes.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that running away doesn't fix anything?" Her gaze was genuine. Her kind, innocent eyes searched his. Maybe under normal circumstances, he would have considered her words. Maybe he would have pushed aside his anger and flirted with her. Maybe he would have changed his mind about leaving.

Under normal circumstances, he would have done a lot of things differently.

Shawn tugged on the ticket and she let it go. He averted his eyes. "Maybe not," said Shawn quietly, but firm. "But there's just some things that can't be fixed."

Shawn left the desk, strung his bag over his shoulder and handed his ticket to the man waiting at the door. Shawn boarded the plane without a single look back.

* * *

Present Day

Shawn stared out the window. He watched the rain hit the glass of the Psych office window. Shawn reached a hand to his right shoulder, gently massaging the stab wound mindlessly.

_"If I just didn't give you my jacket… Then everything would still be okay."_

_"But you did, Shawn. You did."_

Shawn sighed. He looked around the darkening room. He felt numb. Empty. Shawn looked back at his computer screen at the photo of himself and Juliet at Lassiter's wedding. Him. Juliet.

And that damned jacket.

A rush of anger suddenly rose in Shawn's chest. He slammed the laptop shut, tired of looking at his greatest mistake. He sank into his desk chair.

_"Shawn, I think—I know… I need space."_

Space. Shawn propped his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, feeling his headache from the concussion creep back. He sighed.

_Space._

Shawn pulled out his phone and scrolled the Yellowpages. He found a number and made a quick call then he stood. Juliet was right. Space might not be such a bad idea.

But the last time Shawn needed space, he didn't come back for over ten years.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Shawn looked up as a horn sounded outside. A yellow cab waited in the street. Shawn grabbed his wallet and phone. He didn't need anything else. He left the office and got into the cab. He slid across the backseat. The driver, an Indian man a few years older than Shawn himself, gave Shawn a smile.

"Mr. Spencer?" asked the driver.

"Yeah," said Shawn absentmindedly. "Airport, please."

"My name's Juan," said the driver. He backed the cab up and pulled into the street. Shawn didn't respond. He just stared out the window and watched the rain.

"What you need the airport for?" asked Juan. Shawn slowly shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, seeing the eagerness in Juan's eyes staring back at him.

"I need some… space," said Shawn quietly, hating to be repeating the words Juliet spoke, the words that felt like a knife in his heart.

" _I think you should move out."_

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Shawn's gaze fell back to the window of the cab, watching the rain pick up, the drops spilling in a mess of rivulets on the glass. He couldn't help noticing the appropriateness of the weather, considering his mood.

"Space from…?" prompted Juan, making a right down the next street.

Shawn shut his eyes, irritation growing. Under normal circumstances, he would have indulged the driver. But this wasn't a normal circumstance. He didn't have patience for anything at the moment. "I appreciate the concern, Juan, I really do. But I'd really rather we have a quiet trip."

"Yes, I understand, I understand," said Juan, nodding. Shawn and Juan sat in silence for about thirty seconds before Juan said, "You know, I'm a big fan."

Shawn looked back at the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, you're Shawn Spencer!" exclaimed Juan. "I read about you and that Gurton Buster in the paper. You're the psychic!"

"Yeah," said Shawn, about to correct Gus' name, but instead just said, "Well, thanks, Juan." Shawn leaned his head against the window. It was either his mild, day-old concussion or the weather that was killing his head. He let the chilled glass sooth the dull throb. Shawn shut his eyes, wondering what he was doing. Where was he going to go? Back to Miami? He sighed. He didn't want to go to Miami. Was he really going to leave? Make the same mistake he made years ago? He wanted to be with Juliet. That's all he's wanted ever since she found out the truth.

Ever since he lost her.

Shawn kicked himself. How could he have been so stupid? Lifting a hand, Shawn rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn't slept in nearly two days. Juliet hadn't been returning his calls. Shawn hadn't contacted anyone. Gus had tried calling Shawn a few times, but Shawn didn't want to talk to him. He didn't want to talk to anyone. There was nothing he wanted to say.

He just wanted Juliet back in his arms.

Shawn opened his eyes. The passing buildings and houses came back into focus and Shawn watched them slide in and out of his vision. He watched as Juan made a left—

"Hang on," said Shawn, lifting his head. "You made a wrong turn. The airport is back that way," said Shawn, pointing in the opposite direction.

Juan didn't reply. He kept driving. Shawn sat up. "Juan, you made a wrong turn," repeated Shawn slowly. "Turn the car around."

"I can't do that," said Juan in a quiet voice. Shawn's heart skipped a beat. His hand shot toward the door and he tried to open it, but it was locked. The unlock button was busted. How hadn't he noticed that when he got in? He notices  _everything_.

Heart picking up more speed, Shawn looked at Juan. "Where are you taking me? Who are you?"

"Oh, my name really is Juan!" said Juan quickly. "But, see… I'm in a little trouble here, Shawn Spencer…"

"What kind of trouble?" demanded Shawn, removing his seatbelt, trying to think of the smartest way out. He glanced around the car. He yanked on the door again.

"People are looking for me," said Juan, stepping on the gas suddenly. The car lurched forward, throwing Shawn backward.

"Who?" asked Shawn through clenched teeth as pain radiated from his stab wound.

"I lost his money—I didn't think he'd find me—!" exclaimed Juan, looking cautiously behind him. Shawn followed his gaze. The road behind them was clear.

"Stop the car!" yelled Shawn.

"You're a psychic," said Juan quickly. "You can find it, right?"

"Juan, stop the car!" repeated Shawn. Shawn pushed off the backseat and reached for the wheel and pulled it to the left, almost hitting the car passing by.

"I had the money at the taxi station—swear! Maybe it was someone at the station… Maybe they switched the cabs—" continued Juan, yanking the wheel back his way, making Shawn fall forward, narrowly avoiding smacking his head on the dashboard. He grabbed the wheel again, and tried to steady the car.

"You're going to crash it!" yelled Shawn, trying to pry off Juan's hand. Juan held tight. They came dangerously close to another car beside them, and Shawn threw himself forward, grabbing the wheel and twisting it back to the right. The car blared its horn. Shawn saw something out the corner of his eye and was suddenly paralyzed, watching the SUV, black as night, driving straight at him.

He didn't even feel it strike.

* * *

a/n: thanks for reading! More to come! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Gus stared at his phone. He was looking at the call log—all his unanswered calls to Shawn. Gus knew Shawn was hurting from the break-up with Juliet, but he wished there was something he could do. Shawn was his best friend and seeing him like this… It was painful.

Walking into the Santa Barbara Police Department, Gus approached the front desk and asked for his and Shawn's Psych check. As the officer searched for it, Gus' eyes wandered to Juliet's desk. She was sitting behind it, her hair tucked into a messy bun, her fingers typing away at the keyboard. She seemed entirely focused on whatever it was she was doing.

The officer handed Gus the check and Gus thanked him. He folded it and started to leave, but stopped himself. He looked back at Juliet.

A moment later, Juliet looked up as Gus walked to her desk. Her eyes were suddenly guarded. "Gus, I really don't want to—"

"He's sorry, Juliet," whispered Gus. "Shawn's more sorry about this than anything he's ever done, and that's saying something—"

Juliet held up a hand, stopping Gus. "Gus, I can't do this right now. Nothing you say will make me forgive Shawn, so give it a rest."

"He loves you, Juliet." said Gus simply. "He never wanted to hurt you—"

"Gus," warned Juliet dangerously.

"O'hara!"

Gus and Juliet turned as Lassiter walked into the room. He holstered his gun, seeming rushed. "There was a car accident about twenty minutes ago on State Street. Hit and run. Looks intentional."

"Anyone dead?" asked Juliet, her and Gus' quarrel temporarily set aside.

"I don't know yet," said Lassiter. He pulled on his jacket. "Apparently the vehicle hit was a cab. They said it was a pretty nasty accident."

"Let's get down there," said Juliet. She grabbed her own jacket and the two detectives started to head out of the station.

"Wait!" called Gus, following them. "Can I come?"

"Sure," said Lassiter. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Gus hesitated, surprised. He smiled. "Wow, really?"

Lassiter barked a laugh. "No, not really! Now get lost, Guster. O'hara and I have a case to solve."

"Come on," tried Gus. "I can be helpful!"

"Even if I was considering hiring your little detective agency," said Lassiter as they descended the stairs, "your  _psychic_  team isn't very psychic without the  _psychic_."

"It hardly is  _with_ the psychic," muttered Juliet in a low voice that Lassiter didn't catch, but Gus did.

"Get lost, Guster," called Lassiter as he and Juliet picked up their pace and got into Lassiter's Fusion. Gus leaned against the railing, panting from the effort, and watched their engine start up. Quickly, Gus ran to his Echo and jumped into the driver's seat. Gus trailed a few dozen yards behind Lassiter's car. Gus was prepared to get as much information as he could about this case; the best distraction for Shawn right now was this case.

Twenty minutes later, Gus watched Lassiter and Juliet pull up to the crime scene. Gus turned down a gravel road and parked his Echo. He got out and made his way to the crime scene walking through the backyards of a few houses along the side of the road. He crept up to the scene and peered from between two of the houses and Juliet and Lassiter approached the accident, weaving through the ambulances, police cars and professionals walking the scene.

The cab had spun off the road. Directly across from the cab was a street that ran perpendicular to the road the cab had been driving on—the vehicle that hit the cab had to have blown through the stop sign and went straight for the cab. There was no doubt it was intentional.

"So," said Lassiter, pointing to the road perpendicular—Yuler Road, Gus read, "the attacking vehicle came from Yuler and struck the cab on the driver's side." Lassiter and Juliet approached the cab. Gus took a few careful steps forward, ducking behind a bush. He pushed the twigs aside. The driver's side was severely dented inward. The windshield had cracked but didn't shatter. Gus watched as a mid-thirties Indian man was carefully extracted from the cab. He was dead; that was clear. As the man was placed onto a gurney, Gus saw it.

A gunshot wound.

The man had been shot in the chest. His entire torso was coated in blood. Lassiter and Juliet must have seen it at the same time Gus did. As Gus clamped a hand over his mouth, firmly telling his lunch to stay put, Lassiter said, "Well, that definitely rules out  _accident_." He turned to one of the EMTs. "Gunshot wound was the cause of death, correct?"

"Yes, Detective." replied the EMT, nodding. He moved so another officer could snap photos of the crime scene. "Granted," the EMT continued, "he would have probably died of blood loss anyway."

"Hang on," said Lassiter, examining the car closer. He leaned inside, careful not to touch the blood. Gus resisted the urge to gag. Lassiter stared at the windshield. He pointed to the crack. "This is where the driver hit the windshield?"

"No," said the EMT, looking up from the files he was reading. "The driver was wearing a seatbelt. He was lucky," he said, then looked at the dead body and shrugged. "Well,  _would_  have been lucky if not for the 9mm."

Lassiter's stared at the windshield. He turned to Juliet. "Something hit the windshield."

Juliet walked around the front of the car. "Or… some _one_."

"You think someone else had been in the car?" asked Lassiter. He nodded to himself, considering the theory.

"Actually, that would make sense," said the EMT. He pointed toward the upholstery and Juliet and Lassiter's gaze followed the EMT's. Gus couldn't see what they were all pointing at. He closed the gap he made in the twigs of the bush. He had to get closer. He was about two dozen feet away from the cab. He started crawling, his hands and knees sinking into the soft ground. He found another bush, closer to the cab, and he peered through the leaves. The EMT continued, "There's a severe amount of blood here, much more than should have come from the driver's gunshot wound. He wasn't bleeding anywhere else."

"He wasn't alone in the cab," said Juliet. "But if there was someone else… What happened to them?"

Lassiter nodded. "Good work, O'hara. Let's get back to the station and ID this guy. We'll contact the taxi station to find out who was in the car with him."

Gus shivered, looking at the hunk of twisted metal and blood-soaked seats. He was never eating right before seeing a crime scene. Never again.

Gus briefly glanced behind him; he almost felt as if he was waiting for Shawn to make a comment about Gus' weak stomach. Gus sighed, pulling out his phone, dialing Shawn's number for what seemed like the twentieth time that day. He hit send and waited for Shawn to pick up.

"Come on, Shawn," whispered Gus. Shawn was worrying him now. It wasn't like Shawn to screen his calls to this extent. He sighed when he got the voicemail again.

"You've reached Shawn Spencer, part-time detective, full-time psychic. I probably already sensed what you were going to say in your message but leave one anyway."

"Pick up your phone, Shawn," muttered Gus, snapping his phone shut. He was going to get back up and start for his Echo, when he felt a hand grab his shoulder. Gus barely held in a squeal as he was whipped around. Gus cracked his eyes open and held up his hands.

Lassiter scowled. "What did I tell you, Gustor? Stay away from my case!"

Gus sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God, Lassie, I thought you were going to kill me!"

"Don't make me consider it." muttered Lassiter. "Now, do I need to define  _get_   _lost_ , or can you figure it out?"

"Let me stay, I can help!"

Lassiter sighed. "Gustor, don't make me arrest you for hindering a police case."

Gus laughed. "Like you'd ever actually do that."

**Thirty minutes later.**

"Lassie!" yelled Gus as Lassiter slid the bars shut in front of Gus' face. Gus grabbed the bars with both hands. "Are you kidding me right now? Get me out of here!"

"I told you that you had the right to remain silent," said Lassiter. "I suggest you do that."

"Lassie!" Gus rattled the bars on the cage doors. Lassiter had handcuffed him at the crime scene and brought him back to the SBPD and locked him in a holding cell. Lassiter held back a smile as he turned and walked out. " _Lassie_! Get back here!  _Lassiter_!"

Gus sighed angrily and went to sit on the cot, when he realized just how grimy and unsanitary it was. He looked from the cot to the metal toilet, and back. Gus' anger was quickly being replaced by desperation. He grabbed the bars again and shook them. " _Lassie_!"

"They not comin' back down just 'cause ya yell."

Gus froze. He slowly turned to the holding cell beside him. A man in ripped jeans and a faded jersey was lying on his cot. He was looking at Gus. "So, what you do to get ya locked up in here, man?"

"I annoyed a cop," muttered Gus, taking slow steps backward, away from the other man's cell.

"Oh, hey," the man said, sitting up. "That happened to me one time."

Gus' expression relaxed. "Really?"

"Yeah," said the man. "But then I killed him."

Gus' eyes widened.

The guy didn't seem to notice Gus' change in face. "Ya know, I get outta the slammer in 'bout thirty years from now. If tha' guy still gives ya trouble, I'll kill him for ya, if ya really want."

Gus hesitated, considering. A world without Lassiter… Gus shook his head. "No, no, no killing!"

"Tha' cop? Or like…  _anybody_?" asked the convict slowly.

Gus turned quickly back to the doorway Lassiter went through. "Lassie!  _Get me out of here_!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Get him up."

Shawn woke with a start. He winced as his head erupted in pain and his eyes cracked open. Someone had just dropped him onto solid concrete. Shawn shut his eyes, cringing from the throbbing headache. He was confused. He couldn't remember what happened. Everything was a painful blur.

"Get  _up_."

Shawn felt a sharp kick to his back and he opened his eyes again. He was lying in the middle of an empty parking lot, the cold concrete almost soothing his pain. Everything hurt. The world was spinning. Somehow, memories cascaded in his mind, piecing themselves together. Cab. Juan. Accident.

"Were we followed?" a man's voice asked.

"No way to be sure," another man answered. "Could have been."

"We better do this fast, then."

Shawn coughed. The ground seemed to be shifting beneath him. Shawn looked cautiously up, and realized he was surrounded. Three men stood around him, arms crossed, fury clear in their eyes. The man who kicked Shawn—the obvious leader of the three—was rearing back to kick Shawn again, and Shawn held up a weak hand. "I'm—I'm awake," he whispered. His voice was strangely breathy and he cleared his throat. His head felt heavy and his mind was cloudy and transparent.

"Who are you?" demanded the man.

A sharp pain rushed through Shawn's skull and he clamped a hand to his forehead, as if he could stop it. Why did his head hurt so badly? Where was he?

What  _happened_?

Something told Shawn that he  _knew_  what happened… but the memories just seemed to disappear as quickly as they'd come. He blinked, looking up at the three men. How long had they been standing there?

"Who are you?" the man repeated. He wasn't the one who kicked him; this man was shorter, less built, had dark, tattoo-covered skin. Shawn could read the impatience in his eyes, but the danger just didn't seem to resonate in Shawn's mind. Not that it usually did. Danger was usually the last thing that Shawn considered. Fear wasn't something Shawn let himself succumb to. He didn't let it control him.

He didn't let fear win.

"I—uh," began Shawn, looking uneasily at the men. "I don't have much, but I have fifty bucks in my wallet. It's—it's actually not  _my_  fifty bucks—it's my partner's—but I'm sure he wouldn't mind—"

Shawn grunted as the man—the leader of the group—kicked him, this time in the small of his back, nearly knocking the wind out of Shawn. The man's voice dropped an octave, danger lacing his words. "Who. Are. You."

"M-my name is… S—" began Shawn, but even through the concussion, something told him that giving these men his real name would only make matters worse. "—Sawyer," finished Shawn, using the first name he could think of.

"Your name is Sawyer?" asked the other man, the only man holding a gun. He seemed unconvinced. "Sawyer? Like the guy who painted the house?"

"That's  _Tom_  Sawyer," corrected Shawn weakly. "And I'm pretty sure he painted a fence—"

"Shut up!" the leader growled, and Shawn flinched involuntarily, half-expecting the man to kick him again. Shawn's heart slammed against his rib cage. The leader glared at Shawn. "Who are you?"

"Nobody!" said Shawn, as another sudden wave of pain erupted, and Shawn clamped a hand to his forehead again. He quickly realized that the wetness on the side of his head was blood. How hadn't he noticed that moments ago?

 _Right,_ Shawn thought sluggishly,  _concussion._

Shawn wiped the blood off his face, examining his hand, as if he were wondering if the blood was actually  _his_. Turning his head, Shawn examined the parking lot. There was almost nothing in sight. The building in the parking lot was long-since abandoned and much too far away for Shawn to even think about taking cover inside. Civilization didn't seem to exist over here. Briefly, Shawn examined the three men. He suddenly noticed that all three men were wearing ripped jeans and cheap, faded sneakers.

These men were  _broke_.

"What were you doing in the car?" the man demanded, snapping Shawn out of his thoughts. He slowly bent down, grabbing Shawn's chin, tilting Shawn's head roughly toward him, "How did you know Juan? You working for him?"

"Working for him?" asked Shawn, cringing through his headache, trying to shake the man's hand loose."No! I don't even know the guy! I—I was just getting a ride to the airport!"

The airport.

A pain much stronger than the concussion suddenly pulsed through Shawn's veins. Lassiter's wedding. His jacket.

Juliet.

All the energy suddenly drained from Shawn's body. Suddenly, his kidnapping seemed so dull, so mundane. Somehow… none of it mattered half as much as losing Juliet did.

The men laughed humorlessly, the leader letting go of Shawn, and standing back up. Shawn shook himself mentally, reminding himself of his reality. The leader leaned against the black SUV, parked behind him. The SUV. Shawn hadn't even noticed it had been parked there. He was  _really_  out of it. The man with the gun raised an eyebrow. "Heading for the airport, huh? Sure you were. Trying to make off with our money."

"Money?" asked Shawn.  _What money?_

_"I lost their money! I swear it was at the cab station… maybe someone switched the cabs.."_

Shawn hesitated. Juan took the money these men wanted. What did Shawn have to do with it?

"Look," said Shawn. He tried to push himself off the ground, but the leader's foot lashed out with surprising speed—or maybe Shawn's vision was just a few steps behind—and Shawn was kicked back to the ground. He bit his tongue as he hit the pavement, a new welt on his back. His head throbbed harshly. Shawn tasted blood in his mouth. "Look," said Shawn, blinking his eyes open. "I don't know about this money, all right? I was just trying to get a ride, man! That's it!"

"He's lying," said the man with the tattoos. "He's got to be. Juan wasn't even a real driver."

Not a real driver? Shawn shut his eyes, kicking himself. This was the last time he was calling the first cab station he found on the Yellowpages.

"Juan—he wasn't a real driver?" asked Shawn.

The men looked down at him. "Of course not. But you know that. Don't try telling us that you 'didn't know' about the taxi scam. We know what happened. Juan was a middle man. He was supposed to deliver us our money yesterday morning, and he never showed up. The rat bastard tried pulling a fast one, and you expect us to believe he was playing 'cab driver' all of a sudden?"

 _What the hell did I get myself into?_ Shawn asked himself.

"Where is my money?" demanded the man, ready to kick Shawn for a third time.

"I—I don't know!" exclaimed Shawn, eyes scanning the empty parking lot for some sort of escape, as if he was waiting for Juliet, Gus, or even his father to come out of nowhere and rescue him like they always did. But there was nothing in sight. Nothing at all. Vaguely, thoughts sifted through Shawn's mind. Juliet wasn't speaking to him. Shawn hadn't returned a single phone call to Gus. No one knew Shawn was missing, and no one would until it was too late.

Shawn was on his own.

"See, Javier? I told you we shouldn't have killed Juan," said the smaller man, glaring at the man with the gun—Javier.

"Shut up, Trent," snapped Javier. "I was pissed. He deserved it."

 _Juan was dead?_ Shawn shut his eyes. "I don't know anything, all right?"

Javier suddenly cocked the weapon and aimed it at Shawn's head. "Then we're just about done with you."

Shawn's eyes widened, pure fear nearly clearing his blurry vision. "Okay—okay!" exclaimed Shawn, his mind searching for words. Anything to say. Anything at all. "The money's at the cab station! In one of the other cabs!"

The men exchanged glances with each other. The leader grinned. "That's more like it." He reached down and grabbed Shawn's arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. A wall of vertigo struck Shawn from the transition and he nearly fell. Two of the men caught him.

"Look—" said Shawn weakly, trying to yank his arms out of their grip. "That's all I know. Just let me go—"

"You're not going anywhere," said Javier. Despite his efforts, the men dragged Shawn toward the SUV, and threw him into the back. Shawn slammed into the wall, and his vision swam violently. He slumped to the ground, too dizzy to get up. Javier slid in beside him, placing the muzzle on Shawn's head.

"You'd better be right," Javier said, "because if you're not… well, even  _I_  don't want to know what my boss will do to you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Arrested? Seriously?"

Gus sighed. "I didn't break any laws."

"Then why am I here?" asked Henry. He looked around the holding cell. "And why did I post bail?"

"I wasn't going to call my own parents," said Gus, as if it were obvious.

Henry raised an eyebrow, looking behind Gus, into the other criminal's cell, then back to Gus. "Where's Shawn?"

"He's not here."

"Wait," said Henry, crossing his arms. "So you got  _yourself_  arrested? With no help from Shawn whatsoever?"

" _Yes_ ," said Gus exasperatedly, already having given himself this lecture for the past hour. "But—but I'm not even sure I was actually arrested! This is just Lassie trying to keep me out of his case. That bail money probably went straight into his pocket."

"Damn it!" whispered Henry, looking back out the doorway. "That was a hundred bucks, Gus!"

"I've been in here for over an hour!" Gus grabbed and rattled the bars. "Get me  _out of here_!" begged Gus.

As if on cue, an officer descended the stairs with a ring of keys in his hands. He opened the cell door and Gus rushed outside of it, embracing Henry in a tight hug that Henry had not been ready for. He stumbled back step, giving the officer a shrug, and he awkwardly patted Gus on the back.

"Thank you, thank you!" whispered Gus.

"Jus' lemme know 'bout tha' cop," said the convict to Gus' back. Gus didn't stop to respond—he released Henry and bolted for the stairs.

"Where is Shawn?" asked Henry, as he struggled to keep up with Gus' pace. "I thought he and you solved cases, you know,  _together_."

Gus shook his head, slowing down as they walked through the station. "To be honest, I don't know where Shawn is." His nervousness kicked back into his system. "I haven't talked to him since yesterday."

"Call him?" asked Henry.

"Straight to voicemail. And the Psych office is empty." said Gus. He stepped aside as two officers passed between them. "So is his apartment. I mean… He's probably just blowing off steam with the whole Juliet thing."

Henry was about to respond, but both men's eyes wandered to Juliet's desk, less than twenty feet away. She was reading something off the computer, eyes fixed to the screen. Her eyes looked tired. Restless. Henry sighed. "I told him the psychic thing would come back to bite him. Kid never listens."

"I've never seen him like this," said Gus quietly, dropping his voice and leaning against the wall. "He's just… empty." He shook his head. "The last time I remember him like this was when he—" began Gus, but quickly stopped himself before the words came out. Henry crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"When he what, Gus?" asked Henry, drawing out the words.

"When he…" Gus hesitated. "When he had a… falling out… with… you," he finished awkwardly. Gus bit his lip, wishing he hadn't brought it up.

Gus waited, tense, but Henry didn't seem to take it the way Gus thought he would have. Henry just nodded and said, "I was afraid you were going to say that. Shawn made the stupidest mistakes back then."

Gus felt a coldness inside him, as if ice were crawling through his veins. Something wasn't right. Shawn would have answered Gus' calls by now, at the very least to get Gus to leave him alone. Gus looked at Henry. "Are you sure we should just assume he's… fine?" asked Gus hesitantly.

"With Shawn?" said Henry, his eyes reflecting Gus' feelings. "Never." Glancing back at Juliet, Gus started walking back to her desk, feeling a déjà vu moment from the morning. Henry followed behind. Juliet looked up from her desk, and seeing him, she set her jaw.

"Gus, I told you—" she began, but Henry cut her off.

"Have you heard from Shawn?" he asked. Both Gus and Henry watched a flicker of pain cross her eyes. Subtle, but there.

"I haven't talked to him, no," she said in a low voice, nearly emotionless. No, not emotionless, Gus realized.

Jagged.

"But he's called you?" prompted Henry.

"Nine times," was Juliet's quick answer, though she seemed to notice a second too late that her answer was more specific than Henry or Gus expected. She tried to hide a blush. "Or something," she finished lamely.

"Today?" asked Gus.

"No," she said slowly, regaining the edge in her voice. "Yesterday. He hasn't called today."

Gus and Henry exchanged looks. Juliet shifted her gaze between them. "Look, I'm not calling  _him_ , if that's what you're trying to—"

"Forget about that for a second!" exclaimed Gus, making a few heads turn toward him. Gus understood Juliet's pain. He understood why she was angry. But this was just  _not_  the time.

"Gus can't get a hold of him," explained Henry, his voice quiet, watching as the other officers slowly turned back to their work.

"What makes you think I have anything to do with it?" asked Juliet hotly. "I told him I needed space. That's the last time I spoke with him."

"Space?" repeated Gus.

"Guys," said Juliet suddenly, taking a breath to calm her nerves. "I don't care where Shawn is. I have a case to solve, and a taxi station to visit. Just please go." Juliet stood.

"Gustor!"

The three of them turned as Lassiter entered the room, a scowl branded on his face. He glared at Gus. "I thought I arrested you." He walked straight up to Gus, danger emanating from his eyes.

"He posted bail!" countered Gus, gesturing to Henry.

Lassiter ignored both of them and turned to Juliet. "Did you find the taxi station?" asked Lassiter.

"Yeah," she said, picking up a file and handing it to him. "Alastor's Taxi Corporation. It's about six miles from here."

"Woody got an ID on our victim. His name is Juan Matis." said Lassiter absentmindedly, thumbing through the file.

"Let's go check out the station then," she said, grabbing keys from her desk drawer.

Juliet walked past Gus and Henry without a word. Lassiter followed her, jabbing his thumb at Gus. "Do not make me arrest you again."

Gus glared at Lassiter's back as he watched them leave. He shook his head. "Sometimes, I really hate that guy."

Henry looked at him. "Sometimes?"

"Can you give me a ride to my car?" asked Gus. "When Lassiter arrested me, he drove me here in the squad car and refused to get an officer to drive the Blueberry back here."

Henry nodded. "Yeah." said Henry, starting to head outside. "And then we'll find Shawn. I don't even want to know what trouble he's probably gotten himself into by now."

* * *

Juliet looked out the window, taking in the sight. The station was not well-kept. The lot was merely gravel and dirt, and there were less than ten cabs in all. No wonder it was a cab station they'd never heard of. The cabs looked dusty and barely functioning. The only building in sight was a small, shed-looking structure. It suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched that a cab driver from a place like this had been killed.

But why?

And what happened to the passenger?

Juliet sighed as Lassiter pulled the car into a parking space, neatly between the two faded white lines, and turned off the engine. She stared at the gray sky, waiting as if to see the rain hit the window. But none did.

"O'hara?"

Juliet looked at Lassiter, snapping out of her daze. He was already out of the car, bending back into it, giving her a quizzical look.

"Oh," she said absentmindedly. "Sorry."

Lassiter nodded stiffly, watching his partner carefully. He knew there was something bothering her. And being head detective, he had a pretty good idea what it was.

Or  _who_  it was.

Juliet got out of the car and started toward the station, not even waiting for Lassiter. He picked up his pace, falling into step next to her. They walked in silence for a moment. Normally, the silence would have been comfortable. Lassiter didn't like small talk nor did he usually enjoy sharing any of his thoughts with anyone, hardly even himself.

But Juliet was different. She was the first person he'd been partnered with who hadn't disliked him from the beginning. Even when he was being difficult with her—Lassiter had to admit he was—Juliet didn't seem very bothered by it. She seemed almost  _driven_ by it. And, still, she would genuinely care about him. It wasn't something Carlton Lassiter was used to—caring.

But it's started to go both ways for Lassiter and Juliet. Lately, he'd been having a certain tightness in his chest when he and Juliet were under fire. It wasn't something he'd felt very much in the past. It took him quite a long time to figure out what that tightness was.

He  _cared_.

And even now, as he and Juliet walked toward the station, he felt that tightness. But it had nothing to do with gunfire, the threat of death or any kind of danger.

Juliet was hurting, and that bothered him.

Lassiter's hand slowly receded to his gun in his holster. He fingered with the leather, feeling uncomfortable. His gun was usually all he had to go to when he was uncertain, but… this situation would require much more than his firearm.

It would require his words.

Lassiter dropped his hand and his eyes slowly crept to Juliet. Her eyes were fixed in front of her. He should say something. He really should. But…

What?

Lassiter blinked as Juliet pushed open the door to the cab station. She held it for him and he took it, muttering an almost inaudible thank you. Never in his life had Lassiter thanked someone for holding a door. Why was he choosing to start now? Is that all he had to say to his partner? Could he really come up with nothing more?

"Can I help you?"

Lassiter and Juliet turned. The station was very small and dimly-lit. It was a single room. It felt stuffy and smelled faintly of exhaust fumes. The walls were grimy and stained, the floors a cracked cement. A single desk stood behind them, papers scattered across the surface.

"Hi," said Juliet to the man who'd spoken. This man was short and scrawny, and didn't look much older than twenty. He wore dingy overalls, as if he were a mechanic. He fixed his glasses and returned Juliet's smile.

"I'm Hal," said the young man, running a dirty, grease-stained hand through his untidy hair.

"Hi, Hal," said Lassiter, trying to resist the urge to scowl at the unkept office. He pulled his badge out of his jacket and held it to Hal's eyes. "I'm Detective Carlton Lassiter and this is my partner, Detective O'hara. We're with the Santa Barbara Police Department."

Hal's eyebrows raised in innocence. "Police? Did… Did I do something, Officer?"

" _Detective_ ," corrected Lassiter flatly. "And I don't know, you tell me. Do you know anything about a driver here? Juan Matis?"

Hal grinned. "Juan! Yeah, gotta love Juan. He's a funny dude."

"He's dead." said Lassiter shortly.

Hal's mouth dropped open.

"Lassiter!" hissed Juliet disapprovingly. She looked at Hal sympathetically. "You were friends with him?"

"I—I worked with him, I mean—I guess you could say that…" stuttered Hal. "He's dead?"

"He was involved in a hit and run this morning," said Juliet softly. "Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Mr. Matis?"

Hal sank to the desk, leaning on the surface. It took him a moment to speak. "He—he took strange routes."

Lassiter cocked his head, his interest piqued. "Strange how?"

"Well, I mean, it's not done religiously, but when the drivers get calls and drive clients, they get recorded. But—and I thought I must have just been missing out on something, but his records weren't ever in line with the miles he drove. Not even close. I mean, I'm the only one who records anyone's routes—"

"What is it you do here?" asked Laasiter, cutting the young man off.

Hal didn't seem offended. "I help out, keep track of the books…" he hung his head sheepishly. "Like I said, it's not done every single time… I try my best, but… well, I try. This is my uncle's place. He hired me to help out with whatever he needed."

Lassiter looked around. "Where is your uncle?"

"He's out driving clients," said Hal, wringing his hands together nervously. "We don't have a whole lot of clients. A few months ago, Uncle Ian thought we were going to have to close up shop. But I put up fliers. Made a website. Business picked up and we were out of the hole."

Juliet and Lassiter resisted the urge to exchange glances. Something was fishy.

"When does Uncle Ian get back?" asked Lassiter.

Hal scratched his chin. "I dunno. Maybe nine?"

Lassiter frowned. "Well, we're going to have to get a look at those books."

Hal stood to get the paperwork out of the desk. As he was rifling through the papers, Lassiter examined the room. His eyes scanned over the dusty, dinosaur of a computer, outdated calendars on the walls, and rested on the corner. It was piled with bags and other junk.

Lassiter pointed to the corner. "What's all this?"

Hal followed Lassiter's eyes. "Oh," said Hal, turning back to the drawer. "That's the leftover stuff. Clients forget bags and stuff all the time."

"What's inside them?" asked Lassiter.

"I don't really know," said Hal. "I don't look inside. I just find them in the cars and pile them over there for the clients to pick up, if they ever do. But they don't usually—most of them are just headed for the airport or home from a bar. Either they're too far away or too drunk to care about picking up their stuff."

One of the bags looked familiar. Not the bag, per say, but the size. The shape.

Lassiter walked over to it and picked it up. It was heavy. Stiff. It had been wedged between a few other bags, but Lassiter didn't care about the others. He grasped the zipper on the bag and pulled.

Cash.

A  _lot_  of cash.

Lassiter held the bag, looking at the wads of cash staring back at him.

"Carlton!" whispered Juliet, looking over his shoulder. "That's got to be…"

"Four million?" guessed Lassiter, picking up a wad, sifting through the bills with his thumb. "Five?"

Hal shut the drawer. "Here's the paperwork."

Lassiter and Juliet turned as Hal held out the crumpled stack of messy stapled papers. Hal's eyes shifted to the bag of money. He gasped aloud.

"That was in there?" he exclaimed. He dropped the papers on the ground and walked around the desk, gaping at the money. "No wonder Uncle Ian doesn't want me in his office!" He looked at Lassiter and Juliet, stunned.

Lassiter barked a laugh. "Yeah." He looked at Juliet. "Simple. Uncle Ian finds a fortune in the back of a cab and Matis finds out, threatens to call the cops. Gives Uncle Ian some motive."

"He wouldn't kill anybody!" protested Hal. "Uncle Ian's not like that!"

"Well, where was he this morning?" asked Juliet.

"I—he was on driving clients all day," said Hal hollowly, seeming to realize that his uncle's alibi wasn't quite crystal.

"Check those books," said Lassiter to Juliet. He looked at Hal. "You wrote down all clients today?"

"Today—?" said Hal, shaking himself, tearing his eyes away from the money. Juliet picked up the papers from the floor and Hal nodded. "Yeah, I wrote down all the clients from this morning. Addresses of the clients who called for transport. Uncle's clients will be in there."

Juliet scanned the list. There weren't many drivers to this station—seemed to be only five. The three unfamiliar names had clients all morning from the addresses of three different bars. Ian had picked someone up from the Santa Barbara airport. Hal didn't lie about those two types of places being nearly the only pick up addresses. Her eyes dropped down to Juan.

"Oh my god," breathed Juliet, her eyes freezing on the address directly across from Juan's name. She read it over again. And again.

And  _again_.

"What?" asked Lassiter, slowly standing next to her, scanning the page himself. "What are you—"

But he stopped talking. Because just like Juliet, his eyes zeroed in on the address beside Juan's name. It was an address that was all too familiar.

"You've got to be kidding me," whispered Lassiter as Juliet's gaze slowly met his. She swallowed hard, her heart dropping low in her chest, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Shawn."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

1993

" _Shawn, where are you?"_

_"I don't know, Dad, Gus and I went into the forest behind his house, and—"_

_"I told you not to go back there, Shawn!" Henry had exclaimed. Shawn heard his father sigh on the other line. The phone connection was fuzzy and Shawn was worried it wouldn't hold much longer. He looked around as the light began to dim in the sky. His heart drummed in his chest. Another twig snapped under his feet, the sound making him jump._

_"I don't know where we are," said Shawn, unable to hide the nervous trill in his voice. He didn't know if he should blame it on his fear or his thirteen-year-old, maturing voice. "Dad… I'm scared." Shawn looked wildly around as he stumbled through the forest, Gus right behind him. They didn't mean to wander this far into the forest. They didn't mean to get lost._

_"Shawn, listen to me, and listen well." said Henry, and Shawn clutched the cell phone tightly, pressing it hard against his ear, not about to miss a word his father was going to say. Despite everything he'd ever felt about his father, despite the endless lectures and lessons from the detective, his father's voice was the only thing Shawn wanted to hear._

_"Okay. I'm listening." said Shawn, stopping in his tracks, another twig snapping underneath his sneakers. Gus stopped a moment after Shawn, running into his friend, not having been paying attention. Shawn grabbed Gus' wrist, catching him before Gus lost his balance. Shawn could feel Gus' rapid heartbeat through the touch._

_"I want you to calm down," said Henry, his voice even. Solid. Strong. "Take a deep breath, relax. You're safe. You're not in danger. It's just your imagination telling your mind every possible bad thing that can happen. Understand? Breathe, Shawn." Shawn took a deep, shaky breath. He looked around the forest, trying to ignore the hair sticking up on the back of his neck, the fear of being trapped in the darkness, waiting for the animals to come out…_

_"Dad, I can't," said Shawn, clutching the phone harder, hearing Gus' fast breathing in line with his own. "We're going to be eaten, Dad—"_

_"Shawn," said Henry firmly, and Shawn vaguely heard a car door slam on Henry's side of the phone conversation._

_He was coming_

_His dad was coming._

_"Shawn," said Henry. "Take a breath. Right now." Shawn complied, taking another breath, trying to calm his nerves. "Again," said Henry. Shawn took another breath. He breathed for a solid thirty seconds before he felt his heart start to slow down. "You're okay, Shawn," said Henry. "It's all in your head."_

_Shawn looked around. The leaves in the trees rustled softly in the wind. There were no animals in sight. "It's all in my head," repeated Shawn. "Okay."_

_"Understand this," said Henry firmly. "No matter where you are, no matter what's happening to you, you have a choice of how you respond. You can't control what you're afraid of, but you can control what you do with it. Bravery is not lack of fear; It's being terrified, but doing what you have to do in spite of that."_

_"Okay," said Shawn, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. He took another breath, steadying his nerves. Gus seemed to notice the darkening of the sky at the same time Shawn did. Shawn saw the worry crease his face. "Dad," said Shawn slowly. "What do I do?"_

_"Close your eyes."_

_"Dad," sighed Shawn. "There are no hats here!"_

_"Do it, Shawn," said Henry firmly._

_Shawn did. He shut his eyes, diving into his own world of darkness._

_"Now," said Henry's calm, steady voice in Shawn's ear. "How many left turns did you make walking into that forest? How many rights?"_

_Shawn considered. He remembered walking into the forest. He remembered the eighteen trees they passed, the strange moss that grew on all except two, the squirrels hiding in the center of an old Oak, the eight branches he and Gus moved out of the way—_

_"Ten. Ten lefts." said Shawn. "And four rights."_

_"Do you remember it well enough to retrace your steps?"_

_Shawn hesitated, images flashing through his mind. Moss. Rocks. Branches. Hills._

_"Yes," said Shaw, opening his eyes, his confidence there, but running thin. "I think so. But—it's getting dark—"_

_"Do not let fear control you, Shawn," said Henry, the words heavy._

_Shawn swallowed. "I won't."_

_"Stay on the phone with me. Retrace your steps. Do not leave Gus' side."_

_"Gus," said Shawn, taking his friend by the arm. "This way."_

_"But, Shawn, it's dark—" said Gus, fear deep in his eyes. Shawn saw his friend's hands shake._

_"I know," said Shawn, gazing around the forest, spotting a familiar tree. "Breathe. We're getting out of here."_

_Gus hesitated. "Aren't you scared?"_

_Shawn took a breath, looking back the way they'd come. Something stronger than the fear pulsed through his veins._

_Determination._

_"Nah," said Shawn, a smile crossing his face. "Relax, Gus. Fear is all in your head."_

* * *

Shawn shut his eyes, closing them tight for the millionth time. He still couldn't remember how many left or right turns the van took. All the motions just blurred. His mind seemed lost.

Broken.

"Here?" asked Javier to the driver, his boss.

"Yeah."

Shawn blinked his eyes open. It took him a moment to register that the van had stopped moving. His head was throbbing viciously—for all he knew, the van was still moving at full speed.

"Leave him here," said the driver. "Trent, come with me. We're heading into that station."

 _The cab station_. Shawn's crippled mind vaguely pieced together what was happening. He was taken from the cab. They thought he was working for the cab driver—Juan. What did Juan do again?

The money.

 _Right_ , thought Shawn, struggling against the zipties binding his wrists. His father mentioned something about zipties… But that had been a lifetime ago. Shawn shut his eyes, willing the memories to come back, but his mind was too clouded; it was as if his thoughts were wrong puzzle pieces he was trying to jam together. Shawn tried pushing himself up, but didn't get two inches off the ground before Javier's hand was around his throat, slamming him back to the floor of the vehicle. The gun was back to Shawn's temple and Javier's eyes burned into Shawn's. Shawn's breath caught in his throat, fear freezing him.

"You stay put," hissed Javier, "and you stay quiet. You scream, and I swear I'll kill you right now."

Shawn stared at Javier, the man who so literally held Shawn's life in his hands. Shawn felt his fear creeping up his veins.

_"You can't control what you're afraid of, but you can control what you do with it."_

Shawn slowly drew in a breath.  _Breathe._ He glared at Javier, a newfound burst of determination clearing some of the haziness from the concussion from his mind. Everything suddenly became… vivid. Shawn examined Javier. The man's gun was a 9mm NATO.  _A military weapon,_  Shawn thought vaguely. Javier held the weapon with a practiced hand. This was a man who'd used the gun in the past and was not afraid to do so again. There was something in the man's eyes. It wasn't fury. It wasn't hate.

It was… nothing.

The man seemed nearly emotionless. Exhausted. His hands were strong, calloused, and a tattoo was showing under the sleeve of the man's t-shirt—something Shawn thought he recognized. Muscles bulged underneath the material. The man had a rugged beard and mustache, his black hair stark against his tanned skin. A scar that dragged down the side of his face, and favored his left arm. Though… Shawn looked at his right hand, the one pinning him down.

 _Calloused middle finger_.

 _Knuckles were more pronounced_.

This man was right handed, yet held the gun with his left.

It clicked in Shawn's head.

"You fought for this country," said Shawn slowly, the hand near his throat making him slightly nervous to speak. "You fought for it and now you're stealing from it."

Something changed in Javier's eyes. Something very close to disbelief. But the flare of emotion changed just as quickly as it had come. The gun pressed harder against Shawn's head, making him cringe. "We're not stealing anything," said Javier in a low voice. "That money is ours. Not stealing. Now shut it."

Shawn slowly raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not… But selling weaponry you took from the Forces is."

The hand crept closer to Shawn's throat. Shawn fought to keep his heart from speeding.

_Breathe._

"I knew you were working with him," growled Javier. Shawn hesitated; he didn't know what would prolong his life. Lying and saying that he was working for Juan, or telling them the truth; he was a psychic.

Or well, a  _version_  of the truth.

"I—" began Shawn, but Javier cut him off.

"So what if we stole them?" asked Javier. "They wronged us. All of us."

Shawn thought back to Javier's hand and shoulder. "You were injured," said Shawn. "They let you go."

"They took me off duty because I got shot. They wouldn't let me fight. I gave up  _everything_  to fight for this country. We all did."

"So," said Shawn, piecing together the story. "You and your friends stole weaponry and decided to make a profit."

"We found a black market salesman acting as a cab driver," said Javier. "Juan. He was supposed to deliver the weapons and grab our money for us. But he never showed. And I thought I told you to  _shut_   _it_." The gun slid back up to Shawn's temple, cutting into his skin. Shawn winced.

"He thinks someone found the money," said Shawn, ignoring the gun. Ignoring the fear snaking through his veins. "At the can station. He said that they switched his cab and that the money was inside. It's there. You don't need me." His eyes met Javier's. "Let me  _go_."

"The money better be there," said Javier dangerously, his hand pressing Shawn further into the floor. The harsh metal bit into Shawn's back. His wrists burned in pain from the tight plastic ties. Javier's voice dropped when he spoke again. "Because I'm starting to think you know a little more than I'd like you to know." He tapped the gun against Shawn's head, awakening the dull throb of his concussion. "To be honest," continued Javier, "we really  _don't_  need you anymore." He smiled a twisted grin. "Do you know what that means?"

_Breathe._

"That means…" said Javier quietly, "that you're officially disposable." The cold metal skimmed the side of Shawn's face, sending a shiver down his spine. The muzzle stopped under his chin, tilting his head up, a small gasp escaping Shawn's lips.

_"Dad… I'm scared."_

Javier slowly pulled the trigger back on the weapon. The hand around Shawn's throat pinned him to the floor of the van. He couldn't move. Shawn's heart pounded in his head. The man's finger shifted to the trigger.

_"Don't let fear control you, Shawn."_

Shawn swallowed.

Shut his eyes.

And he waited to die.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

"O'hara?"

Juliet gazed blankly at the paper, looking at the words but seeing straight through them. She saw the words. She knew what they meant. But it wasn't just another case anymore. It was so much more than that. This time…

It was Shawn.

"O'hara…?"

She must have read the address wrong. Juliet refocused her eyes on the letters that Hal had scribed into the box in untidy handwriting. But… there it was. It was the address of Shawn's Psych office. Juliet stared at the letters, willing them to shift. Form a new address. Anything.

"Is she alright?"

"Shut up, Hal."

Suddenly, a hand was on Juliet's shoulder, and the papers clutched so tightly in her hand were slowly tugged out. She let go of them, noting vaguely the spiderweb of wrinkles her crushing grip left on them.

"Juliet?"

Her head snapped up. Lassiter  _never_  used her name. He was looking at her, the slightest worry in his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but…

Nothing would come.

"Something wrong?" asked Hal, his eyes darting between Lassiter and Juliet, worry crossing his face.

"What do you know about this client?" demanded Lassiter, thrusting the papers in front of Hal's face roughly, his thumb indicating Shawn's address.

"I—I don't know—I'm no driver." said Hal nervously, sinking back into the wooden desk. He looked toward Juliet, as if she'd protect him from Lassiter's glare, but she was staring into space, seeming lost in a world that was entirely her own. Hal shifted his gaze back to Lassiter. "I don't—don't know any clients, it's not like clients pass through here."

Lassiter's glare intensified, his eyes narrowing into slits. He took a breath in such a frightening manner, Hal sank further back into the desk. Lassiter pushed the papers closer in Hal's face. "I need you to tell me  _something_ ," he said dangerously. There was something deep in his voice that was past irritation. Past angry cop. Past interrogator. Far beyond anything else Hal had seen in any cop he'd ever encountered in his life—which had been quite a few.

It was fear.

If the desk wasn't solid oak, the amount of weight Hal leaned into it would have pushed it across the room. He cowered under Lassiter's glare. "I—I don't know anything, Officer!"

Lassiter bit his tongue to stop the vulgar response he was ready to fire back at the young, trembling man. Lassiter shoved the papers into his jacket and said, "We're going to have to take you down to the station for questioning."

"I don't know anything!" exclaimed Hal, continuing to bruise himself on the desk.

"You were sharing an office with five million unmarked bills, sure you don't." spat Lassiter, though he wasn't even sure himself where the sudden venom in his words came from. But he didn't have time to decipher the things he was feeling.

He never did.

"O'hara," said Lassiter, turning to her. She blinked, slowly looking at him as if she'd just woken from a dream.

Or a nightmare.

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice small and quiet. She cleared her throat, shaking herself, straightening.

"Take him to the car. I'll grab the money."

After a moment's hesitation, Juliet nodded. "Uh—okay. Hal, please come with me."

Seeming overjoyed to be out from underneath Lassiter's terrorizing gaze, Hal hurried to the door. Juliet turned and followed him out. Lassiter watched the door swing closed.

He stood in the middle of the room, completely still. He was unsure of what was possessing him to stop moving. He had bags to check. People to call. Suspects to question. He didn't have time to stand around.

So what was he doing?

And why the  _hell_  was Spencer taking a cab?

Lassiter shook his head, mentally removing himself from the case. It was getting personal. He didn't let things get personal. And he didn't even  _like_  the kid. He bent down and started searching through other bags in the corner of the room. He unzipped a mud-stained red suitcase, pulling out old sneakers and gym clothes that smelled horrid. He held his breath, stuffing them back in to the bag and zipping it shut. He grabbed the next bag and sifted through old papers, which by the dates seemed to be years old. How long were these bags collected and kept? Lassiter tossed the next one aside and moved onto another.

Spencer had a motorcycle. What would have made him call a cab? And a cab from a shady place like this?

Lassiter shut his eyes, sighing, stopping his thoughts. He was doing it again. He shoved Spencer from his mind. He couldn't think about that right now. Now, he was looking through bags to double check that the money he found was the only one there like it. He went through four more bags, only finding more clothes and useless items. One of them had an old vodka bottle, half empty. He almost considered taking a swig, but threw it back in the bag. Not the brightest idea. Lassiter picked up another bag.

Where had Spencer been going? Hal mentioned that the usual drop-of spots were airports. But Spencer hadn't planned on going anywhere, he hadn't mentioned anything. Gustor and Henry didn't know where Spencer had been—

Juliet.

Lassiter's head snapped up. That had to be it. Spencer and Juliet had broken up. It wasn't mutual. Lassiter didn't know the details, but he knew that much. Would that have driven Spencer to board a plane? Lassiter considered. It wasn't an outrageous idea. It had definitely crossed his own mind several times as he went through his divorce.

Lassiter tossed the last bag—a drawstring bag with nothing but a bag of potato chips and Nintendo DS—back into the pile.

 _What the hell did Spencer get himself into_?

Lassiter shook his head, rubbing his temples, trying to fend off the headache he knew was coming. He shouldn't be this bothered. The kid was a pain in the ass.

So why was he feeling that tightness in his chest all of a sudden?

Lassiter grabbed the money and was about to stand when the door opened again. Lassiter turned, raising to his feet as two men walked inside. They obviously didn't expect to find anyone in the office. They stopped short. One was on the taller side who walked and carried himself with a sort of purpose that Lassiter could only describe as… dangerous. The man beside him was shorter, dark-skinned and had tattoos galore. The taller man gave Lassiter a smile.

"Hello," he said, putting his hands casually in his pockets, somehow making his muscles stand out. "Can we help you?"

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. Do you work here?"

"Yeah," said the man, gesturing to his friend. "My buddy and I are drivers here. Need a ride?"

Lassiter held in a bark of laughter. "No." He looked between the two, feeling a certain tension envelope the room. It was a strange tension. The kind of atmosphere that told him something was…

Off.

"I'm Detective Lassiter, I'm with the Santa Barbara Police Department. Have either of you seen Juan Matis today?" asked Lassiter, ready to get information from whoever he could get it from.

The taller man squinted as if thinking back on the day. After a moment, something seemed to dawn on him and he nodded. "Yeah!" he said slowly, drawing out the word as he nodded. "Yeah, saw him this morning. Why? He in some sort of trouble?"

"He was involved in a hit and run this morning. He's dead."

The men paused, and Lassiter searched their eyes. He watched the recognition sink in. The taller man recovered first. "Juan's dead?" He looked at his buddy. "He's dead?"

"Do you know any of his clientele?" asked Lassiter, trying to figure out why these men seemed so strange to him.

"Some," said the taller man. He scratched his head, letting some of his dark hair fall across his forehead. "You're saying he was killed?"

"Do you know who he drove this morning?" asked Lassiter, ignoring the question.

"I think I remember him telling us he had a guy this morning. Said he was going to stop back here, and we… we were supposed to meet him for lunch break."

Lassiter pulled out his wallet. He held up a crumpled business card that had been jammed behind old coupons and credit cards. Shawn and Gus' Psych business card. A photo of him and Gus back-to-back was on the back. He pointed to Shawn. "Was this man with him?"

Both men looked at the photo. For maybe a while too long. After a moment, the taller man and his friend both shook their heads. "Yeah, didn't see any of his clients." The taller man paused, then asked, "Why? That guy missing or something?"

"Something like that," said Lassiter. He put away his wallet and grasped the money again. Both men's eyes briefly scanned the bag. Lassiter pretended not to notice. "Excuse me."

"No problem, Officer," said the taller man as Lassiter walked between them. Lassiter swallowed a retort. He made his way to the squad car, wondering what that strange, unsettled feeling in his gut was. He shook it off. He was distracted. Paranoid. That feeling was nothing.

 _Nothing_.

* * *

_"What the hell are you doing?"_

Javier and Shawn both jumped, startled, at the sudden voice. Javier whipped his head backward, and suddenly the van door was standing open.

Shawn felt relief flood him as the cold metal of the gun was slowly drawn back. The weapon was still near, but not half as close as it had been. Shawn shut his eyes, letting his head fall back to floor of van, releasing the breath he'd been holding. He wasn't safe yet, but he'd dodged a bullet.

Almost literally.

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" demanded Javier, and suddenly the gun was back under Shawn's chin, the abrupt violence making Shawn groan in response, his eyes snapping back open. "I'm taking him out. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Did I tell you to kill him?" the taller man demanded, stepping onto the van and grabbing the gun from Javier's hand, shoving the man aside. Shawn coughed, looking cautiously up. The man glared at him.

"We don't need him anymore!" exclaimed Javier. "He's dead weight. You found the money, right?"

"Oh, we found the money." he said in a low voice, his eyes not leaving Shawn's. Shawn didn't look away, afraid to move. His head began to throb again, painfully and consistently. The cool, metal floor attempted to suppress the burn, but with his heart beating furiously in his head, the pain seemed to only get worse.

"Well?" Javier glanced from his boss to Trent, who was suddenly in the driver's seat, starting the engine of the van. Shawn winced as the vibration angered his head. Javier's voice raised. " _Well_?"

"Our money is now in the hands of the Santa Barbara Police Department." he said slowly. His hand tightened on the gun. Shawn fought to keep his vision steady and his heartbeat slow.

He failed at both.

"What?" exclaimed Javier. Trent took a sharp turn, nearly making Javier and the man lose their balance as they stood on their knees. Shawn tried to use the distraction to slide himself away from the man, but the gun pressed harder into him, stopping his movements. He winced, vaguely hearing Javier demand, "How?"

"The police beat us to it." said the man. "Some cop, Lassiter."

 _Lassie_.

The man watched Shawn's eyes. He watched the recognition flash through them. He grabbed Shawn by the shirt collar and lifted him with surprising ease, and threw him against the wall of the van. Shawn grunted as a fresh wave of pain erupted in his head. The man pinned him to the wall with one arm. The gun rested on Shawn's chest. " _Sawyer_  here hasn't been very truthful."

Shawn winced again, waves of pain burning behind his eyes. They couldn't know anything. There would be no reason for them to know who he was. Before he could stop them, words flowed out of his mouth. "No," said Shawn, blinking his eyes open, "maybe I haven't. See… See, the story of Tom Sawyer was that he actually  _didn't_  paint a fence—that wasn't the whole truth. He—he convinced some poor sap to do it for him—"

Shawn hadn't expected the man to move so quickly. The man pistol-whipped him across the face, killing whatever nonsense Shawn would have finished his sentence with. Shawn cringed, tasting blood. The van hit a pothole and the three of them fought to keep balance. Shawn's vision swam. He could barely remember what the point of his rambling was.  _If_  there was a point.  _Damn concussion,_ he thought irritably.

"What are you talking about?" Javier asked his boss. "Who is this guy?"

"His name is Shawn Spencer," said the man, making Shawn flinch at the sound of his own name. The man's gun-hand twitched, making Shawn sink involuntarily back into the wall of the van. The man laughed humorlessly, noticing. "This man, gentlemen, is our golden ticket to getting that money back."

"Who is he?" demanded Javier, obviously not satisfied with the answer his boss had just given him.

"He works with the police department." the man said. Shawn sighed internally.  _Not good, not good, not good…_

"He's a cop?" asked Javier, anger elevating.

"Nah," said his boss, replacing the gun on Shawn's chest. Shawn's heart raced and he hoped the man couldn't feel it. His eyes darted around the van, trying to find something to save him. Anything. But the van floor was bare. His hands were tied.

There was nothing he could do.

"Nah," the boss repeated, and Shawn met his eyes. "He's some sort of consultant."

"That's—" began Shawn, but the man cut him off with a harsh jab of the gun, nearly winding Shawn. He gasped.

"The cop had your business card." The man went on, "Turns out the department is looking for you. How touching." He grinned. "You're going to get us our money back."

"I'm—" began Shawn, cringing from the pressure of the weapon. "I'm flattered that you'd think I'm worth all that money—really. I'd always—always priced myself out at around six million." Shawn considered. "Maybe—maybe bump it up to seven, but, you know, that's your call—"

"Shut up." said the man, seeming ready to pistol-whip Shawn again. Shawn reluctantly complied. "The police want you, we want our money. Seems like a fair trade."

 _Police don't negotiate with kidnappers,_ Shawn heard hopelessly somewhere in his head. Shawn took a breath, still slightly winded, and said, "How—how about you let me go, and—and I'll have my friends at the department mail you the money. I'll—I'll even throw in an Edible Arrangement." He looked from the man to Javier. "You guys like pineapple?"

"Enough!" exclaimed Javier, slamming a fist into the wall of the van angrily. "Can we gag him? Please?"

"How—how about we don't gag him," suggested Shawn. "I still fully believe that we should—should forget this thing ever happened and let him  _go—"_ Shawn nearly choked as Javier lunged across the van at him, stuffing what seemed to be a damp, greasy, gasoline-stained rag into Shawn's mouth. The odor alone immediately overwhelmed Shawn's senses, burning his head. His vision swayed violently. His headache tripled.

" _Finally,_ " Shawn heard a distant voice—that sounded much like Javier—say. His eyes fell shut. The fumes killed his head and the strength quickly left his body.

He didn't even feel himself fall.


	7. Chapter 7

" _Follow me, Jules, just watch what I do."_

_Shawn swung a leg over his motorcycle, mounting it in the natural movements he'd become so accustomed to. He grasped the handles, revving the engine gently. He looked back at Juliet, standing in her driveway, her arms clasped behind her back, her sneakers digging absentmindedly in the dirt, biting her bottom lip. He almost smiled at her shyness._

_She was nervous._

" _Jules," he said, drawing out her name playfully. "Come on, Jules, you can do it. One foot in front of the other." He took one hand off the handle bars and patted the seat behind him. "Right here. Right behind me. You know you want to."_

_Shawn watched hesitation flash through Juliet's eyes. She was tempted, he could see it. He could feel it._

" _Shawn…" said Juliet, taking a step toward the bike, but still wavering on the edge of her driveway. Seeming to make a snap decision, she waved a hand, shutting her eyes and taking a step back. "I'm sorry, Shawn. I can't ride one of these things, I—"_

" _Juliet," said Shawn gently, reaching out and taking her arm gently. "I want you to ride with me. Just once. There's… there's something freeing about riding one of these. I want you to know what that's like. That feeling is almost as good as the feeling I get every time I look at you." Shawn watched Juliet melt just the smallest bit at his words and he smiled. He gazed up at her expectantly, giving her his best puppy-eyes. Juliet sighed, tugged her arm from his hand, and grabbed the helmet off the back of the bike._

" _That's my girl," said Shawn, grinning, slipping on his own helmet. "Now just put your leg over—yeah, just like that." He waited, looking back as Juliet mounted the bike behind him, sliding up to sit right behind him. He felt her warmth against his back, sending chills down his spine. "Now," said Shawn, "you can put your arms around—"_

" _I know this part," she said with a grin, slipping her arms around his waist. Those same chills traveled through Shawn's veins. He felt a strong heat pulse through him. Smiling, he put his hands back on the handlebars._

" _Hold on tight," he said to her, starting up the engine and kicking back the stand. He felt Juliet's arms tighten around him, making his heart speed up a little. He hit the gas and smoothly pulled away from her house, driving down her street. He felt her press herself into his back, and rest her chin on his shoulder. Shawn turned down the next street, seeing the wind tousle Juliet's hair in the corner of his vision. He felt her tight hold on him relax a little._

" _Not that scary, is it?" asked Shawn, turning slightly toward her._

" _No…" said Juliet after a moment, adjusting her grip on his waist, sliding herself closer to him, her knee brushing against his._

_Shawn laughed, heading down a busier street. He gained speed and took the next turn a bit faster than before. He felt Juliet cling to him, her hands shifting, holding him tighter, and her fingers grabbed the front of his shirt. He turned back toward her, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Are you ready for some real fun?"_

_Juliet seemed to read his mind. "Shawn—" she warned, but he'd already made the decision. He turned onto the ramp, heading up toward the thruway._

" _Shawn!" exclaimed Juliet. He gained more speed, ready to merge into the traffic. The wind caught his shirt and it rippled in the breeze. He felt Juliet's quick heartbeat against his back._

" _Trust me, Jules!" he shouted over the sound of the wind._

" _Okay," he heard her whisper, so close to his ear he felt her lips on his skin. Shawn reached the end of the ramp, and he shifted into the left lane, getting up to speed. He felt the bike vibrating with power beneath him, and Juliet's arms hugging him tightly. Shawn reached speed. Juliet's hair whipped in the wind. The bike glided seamlessly out of the lane to the next, as Shawn weaved through traffic, feeling weightless. He laughed, the pure freedom let loose in his chest. He turned slightly toward Juliet._

" _How you doing, Jules?" he shouted._

_She put her lips to his ear again, sending tingles down his skin, whispering only two words._

" _Go faster."_

_Shawn laughed, giving the bike more gas, feeling her laughter vibrate through him—_

A door slammed shut, jolting Shawn awake. His eyes shot open, and he whipped his head around. He felt dazed.

Shattered.

Where… where was Juliet? Shawn glanced wildly around, angering his headache, but he didn't care. Juliet had been there. Her arms had been around him. Her chin on his shoulder. Her lips on his neck.

Someone grabbed Shawn's chin and yanked it back around. Shawn grimaced as pain laced through him. He faced a dark-skinned man, with contempt and fury in his eyes. His face was an inch from Shawn's. Tattoos trailed down the man's skin. Shawn breathed harshly through the foul-tasting gag in his mouth.

_Where was he?_

What  _happened_  to him _?_

"What you looking for?" sneered the man.

Shawn shut his eyes. It had only been a dream. He'd only been dreaming about the day he went riding with Juliet.

 _Juliet_.

Shawn felt his heart drop deep in his chest. Memories staggered back to him. How could he have been so  _stupid_? How could he have lost the only one who ever meant a damned thing to him? How could he ruin  _everything_?

Shawn shut his eyes, willing himself to fall back into the memory, to feel Juliet against him, her heat at his back, her whispers in his ear—

"I  _said_ ," said the man, shaking Shawn's head, bringing Shawn's headache back, full-force. Shawn reluctantly faced the man. "What were you looking for?"

Shawn stared at the man. He didn't know what the man wanted from him. He was gagged; it wasn't as if Shawn could respond. Shawn tried to pull away from the man, but the man's grip tightened. He jerked Shawn's head. "Don't even think about trying something." He let Shawn go. Shawn's head fell to his chest, and he shut his eyes, willing the pain to disappear.

Where  _was_  he?

His curiosity overwhelmed the pain, making Shawn crack his eyes back open. He surveyed his surroundings.

He was in an apartment. In front of him stood a wall with a single window that showed nothing but sky, telling Shawn he was far too high up to think about escaping through the window. That is, if he could manage to free himself.

An old TV set stood in the corner, and a ratty couch across from it. Another doorway for a bedroom was beside him. Looking to his left, Shawn made out a sink, fridge and stove. He was in the kitchen. The only light came from the window. It was bright, which meant he either hadn't been unconscious for long, or he'd slept through the night.

Shawn assumed the door was behind him—the door he'd heard slam. Wait… did he hear a door slam? He couldn't remember. Glancing back in front of him, Shawn watched his captor pace.

Right step. Limp. Right step. Limp.

Shawn squinted. The man was limping. That was important… That was important to know. He could deduce something from that.

But…  _what_?

Shawn cursed his concussion for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

" _You were injured."_

" _They wouldn't let me fight. I gave up everything to fight for this country. We all did."_

Shawn blinked. That's right… memories flooded back. Javier said that he and his buddies had been soldiers who'd gotten injured. Shawn watched the man.

Right step. Limp. Right step. Limp.

The man had hurt his left leg somehow. Shawn saw it now: the man had a weakness. Shawn had an advantage. This man couldn't run. So if Shawn could find a way to free himself…

This man couldn't chase him.

He also didn't have a gun. Shawn blinked a few times, trying to clear the haze of his vision. He felt more awake now—more in the moment, yet at the same time felt it wavering, as if it could just slip away. His mind felt unhinged.

 _The man_ , remembered Shawn, getting his mind back on track. What was this man's name? It had been mentioned…

Trent. Trent was what Javier had called him. Shawn's first thought was that Trent and Javier didn't seem like very badass, bad-guy names. But… these men weren't always bad guys, Shawn remembered. They were good guys at one point.

Probably.

Trent wore dark denim and an old, baggy sweatshirt, his hands thrust in the pockets. Shawn tried to read the front of the sweatshirt, but the words didn't form. The concussion left his vision just too blurred.

 _But why didn't he have a gun?_  wondered Shawn. Wouldn't he be carrying a weapon if he was put on watch for Shawn?

Shawn looked down at himself, for the first time, wondering what was restraining him. The thought hadn't even occurred to him to check, and he kicked himself for the stupidity.

He was sitting in a chair, his wrists bound behind him. Shawn looked down, surprised to see dark stains on his jeans. Dark red.

 _Blood_.

Shawn's eyes traveled from his jeans to his shirt, and he realized that blood was staining the front of his shirt, across his side. He blinked. Had he hurt himself there too?

Almost as if to answer his question, Shawn's side burned harshly. He cringed. What happened to him?

 _Oh,_ thought Shawn, a theory forming,  _duh_. He had been in a violent car crash without any seatbelt whatsoever. It would have been ridiculous to think he'd only sustained a head injury.

There didn't seem to be much wrong with his legs, or anything below the waist for that matter. It must have just been hitting the windshield. That sounded about right. He'd probably gotten bruised ribs, if not broken. And somehow he'd cut his skin.

Shawn fidgeted with his wrists. It felt like tape binding them behind him.

Shawn looked cautiously at Trent. The man was still pacing, staring at the floor, and every now and then out the window. What happened to his buddies?

Shawn reached with his fingers, trying to find something in reach to cut the tape. He only found his back pocket, but he didn't carry anything sharp with him. The only thing in his back pocket was his phone—

Shawn froze, his fingers stopping at his back pocket.

His phone was there.

Hope seared through his veins. If could just get free, he'd be able to call for help.

Oh, and take out the man pacing in front of him.

Shawn sighed.

He could do it.

Tape. Tape was easy. That's what Shawn's father had told him.

" _Whenever it comes to zipties,"_ Henry had said years ago, " _all you have to rely on is lateral pressure. You lift your arms over your head, then snap the ziptie over your chest."_

" _What about ropes and stuff?"_ Shawn remembered asking.

Henry had laughed.  _"Son, if you get tied up with rope, you better hope you have something sharp lying around or your kidnappers suck at tying knots. You want to hope they'll go with Duct tape. All you have to do is wiggle right out of them."_

Shawn tugged at the tape. It was tight. But Shawn had escaped from Duct tape before and he could do it again.

Shawn struggled with the tape, watching Trent stop his pacing to go look out the window. He was waiting for something.

Shawn yanked harder on the tape, barely holding in a cry of pain as he jostled his side. His face contorted in pain, and his head throbbed simultaneously. He bit the gag, clenching his teeth, but regretted it immediately. The gasoline odor was suddenly strong again and Shawn cringed, holding his breath. He could do this. He twisted his wrists. Trent had just chose that moment to turn back to Shawn, and Shawn ceased his movements, his breath halting in his chest. His heart hammered. Trent's eyes narrowed.

But then Trent simply looked back out the window, Shawn's struggles apparently having gone unnoticed by him. Shawn let out a heavy, inaudible sigh and tugged at the tape, harder this time.

He could do it.

It took almost four minutes of struggling, having to stop twice as Trent turned back toward him, but the tape finally gave away. Shawn sighed in relief, feeling the tape slide off his right wrist. He looked back up at Trent, who had resumed his pacing. Floorboards creaked under the man's weight. Shawn hesitated.

He was free. How was he supposed to take out Trent? Well… Shawn considered, watching the man. Trent was injured—though still trained in combat—but he was unarmed. The odds didn't look great. And yet… what other choice did he have? Shawn took a breath.

 _Here goes nothing_.

Grasping the side of the chair with his right hand, Shawn lunged forward, swinging the chair around and, with as much force as he could muster, slamming it into Trent's left side. Both Shawn and Trent crashed to the floor, Trent howled in pain as the chair struck his bad knee. Shawn's head swam violently as face met cold, hard floor and he gasped harshly through the gag. His breath hitched in his chest, and suddenly he was immersed in a painful coughing fit wracking through his body, the gag making breathing nearly impossible to draw in air. Something clattered to the ground beside his head and Shawn recoiled involuntarily, vaguely making out what it was.

A knife.

So Trent had been armed after all.

Head still spinning, aggravated by the cough attack, and suddenly on the verge of nausea, Shawn shoved off the ground with a shaking hand. He pushed himself up, ripping the foul gag out of his mouth, letting loose a cry as his side seared in pain from the strain of his efforts. Trent writhed on the floor, clutching his leg, in clear agony. Not wasting another second on the floor, Shawn stumbled to his feet.

But he wasn't expecting the room turn sideways.

He fell into a row of cupboards in the kitchen, knocking over something on the counter and it shattered on the ground. Shawn groaned, grasping the edge of the counter as gravity betrayed him, threatening to pull him back down. His head burned and his side throbbed, new bruises forming, but he pushed himself away and stumbled to the door, just barely catching the frame. His side ached sharply and his hand flew to it, trying to suppress the pain. He groaned at the unwelcome pressure and immediately let go, grasping the doorframe again, heaving through his lungs, running thin on air. He lifted himself, righting his balance, barely noting the blood on his hands, staining the doorframe.

Shawn reached for the doorknob. He nearly missed it; things were much closer than they seemed in his confused mind. Shawn grabbed the handle and thrust it open, hurrying unsteadily into the hallway, hearing an aggravated, pain-filled groan from the injured man behind him.

Shawn shut the door behind him, instantly overcome by an intense dizzy spell. Shawn was suddenly falling against it, accidentally crashing his head on the hardwood. Something close to a whimper escaped him as he dug his heels into the floor and pushed his weight against the door to keep himself from falling. If he fell now, he would never get himself back to his feet. Blinking his eyes open again, battling the war of shooting pain in his head, Shawn shoved himself away from the door and stumbled a few steps down the hallway, trying to ignore how the very floor seemed to shift beneath him. Identical doors stood out all around him. He stumbled more steps down the hallways. Doors. His heart hammered. They all looked the same. Was he actually moving? More doors. Same doors. His world tilted suddenly, and Shawn threw an arm out before he struck the wall again, barely catching himself.

Phone.

Shawn stopped dead, his heart freezing in his chest. His phone. He had a phone.

Shawn's abrupt stop seemed too much for his mind to understand, and he crashed into the wall.  _Keep moving_ , said a voice in the back of his mind. Shawn pushed himself off the wall, vaguely seeing a set of stairs at the end of the hallway.

He grabbed his phone from his back pocket, hitting the keys with shaking fingers. He blinked. The screen was blurry. And bright. Too bright. Shawn cringed. He lifted his phone to his eyes, angering his headache further, able to make out a few numbers, and he dialed the first number he thought of.

* * *

Gus was quiet.

Gus was accustomed to quiet. He's grown accustomed to it over the years. He was comfortable with it. He enjoyed it. After spending years with a best friend like Shawn, someone who could talk at almost literally a mile a minute, silence becomes something of a luxury for people like Gus.

But there are always exceptions.

And now was one of them.

Gus sat still in the passenger seat of Henry Spencer's car. He gazed out the dusty window, noting a few small spiderweb cracks along the windshield that Henry ought to get fixed. His eyes centered on those small details, and the specs of dirt on the windows, and the faded evergreen scent of the car—from an old car-freshener that Gus couldn't quite locate—for the past twenty minutes, because for the first time in his life, Gus was experiencing the horrors of an awkward silence.

Deciding that he couldn't stare at the cracks in the windshield forever, Gus slowly shifted his gaze to his best friend's father. Henry stared at the road, traveling slightly under the speed limit, seeming a bit dazed. Gus knew that feeling and knew it all too well.

Worry.

"So…" Gus said, deciding that was the best way to break the silence. But though it took him a good few minutes to work up the courage to break it, it seemed Henry didn't even notice. Gus sighed and decided to go head first.

"You're worried about him, too, huh?" asked Gus. He watched as Henry seemed to shake out of his daze. The car started going a bit faster, traveling up to the speed limit, and Henry shrugged.

"I don't think there was a time I wasn't worried about that kid." said Henry, shaking his head. "I don't even want to think about what ridiculous mess he's probably got himself into."

"Do you think he'd leave Santa Barbara again?" asked Gus.

"I don't know." said Henry. He gave Gus a glance. "I also haven't talked to him much before the past few years. There's a gap in his life that I don't know much about. You'd probably anticipate his moves better than I would." Henry sighed. "But, yeah, I'm a little worried. The day I tell him I don't want him riding a motorcycle, he goes out and gets that piece of crap he rides now. I tell him his curfew is at eleven and I catch him sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night for sno cones." He looked at Gus incredulously. "Sno cones! I don't even know what place sells sno cones at two o'clock in the morning." Henry shook his head.

Gus was about to reply when Henry took another turn, making Gus realize that Henry was driving nowhere near where Gus had parked his Echo at the crime scene.

"You missed the turn," said Gus, gesturing to the opposite direction with a jab of his thumb. "Like twenty minutes ago."

"I know," said Henry absentmindedly, and instead of turning around, pulled swiftly into a parking space. Gus looked at Henry quizzically. Henry had driven to the Psych office.

"Uh…" began Gus, but Henry was already out of the car and heading toward the office. Gus unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the truck. He skipped up the steps. "What are you—?"

"You said you checked here for Shawn?" asked Henry, grabbing the door handle.

"Yeah—" said Gus, "I checked on my way to the SBPD to get our Psych check. Here, I have a key," said Gus, opening the door. "He hadn't answered this phone all day, either."

Henry waited for Gus to open the door, then walked in before Gus. Gus followed him. The lights were off, the daylight offering enough brightness for them to see. Henry walked through the empty reception area, through the doorway. Half-hoping to find Shawn asleep in his office chair or the couch, Henry poked his head through the doorway.

But it was empty.

The office was quiet. Calm. Two things Henry had never experienced standing in his son's office. Henry walked to Shawn's desk, surveying it. A notepad on the corner of the desk with a doodle drawn on the page of a cartoon dinosaur stepping on a town, two and a half empty cups of yogurt, a half-drunk bottle of beer, and something sticking out underneath his laptop. Henry picked it up. It was—

"My debit card!" exclaimed Gus, snatching the MasterCard from Henry's fingers. Gus glared from the card to Shawn's desk. "I thought I lost this!"

Henry sat down at Shawn's desk, the swivel chair squeaking softly under his weight. Henry opened Shawn's laptop. The screen flashed to light. The laptop seemed to take a moment to catch up with real time and then a photo materialized on the screen.

"What are you looking for?" asked Gus, safely depositing his card into his wallet. He looked over Henry's shoulder at the photo on the screen. It was of Shawn and Juliet at Lassiter's wedding. Henry heard Gus sigh behind him.

"I shouldn't have left him here alone," said Gus quietly, guilt creeping into his tone. He looked around the desk. "I mean, look at this!" he exclaimed, picking up one of the yogurts. "He's gone on a yogurt binge. And it's pineapple. God, he's worse than I thought. This is intensive comfort food." Gus shook his head, setting the cup back on the desk, looking at the rest of the desk. He gasped. "And beer? Ugh, that combination sounds disgusting." Gus wrinkled his nose.

"I told him this psychic crap wouldn't end well," said Henry, rubbing his face, looking at Gus. "That kid never learns."

"He does," said Gus, jumping to Shawn's defense. "He means well. I mean, we've closed over fifty cases. That's gotta mean something."

"And he could have done that by getting the education and badge like every other detective out there." Henry shut the laptop like a snap. "But, because's he's Shawn, he finds the most backward way of shoving himself in the door—"

"That doesn't change what he's accomplished," said Gus, suddenly offended. "That doesn't change the lives he's saved. I've known Shawn almost just about as long as you have." Gus shrugged, shifting his gaze to the Psych title on the window. "Maybe he's got a backward way of doing things, but… at least he's doing them. And he's doing them damn well." Gus didn't know where the sudden protectiveness came from. But he wasn't going to stand around and listen to one more person's irritation with Shawn. He just wanted to find wherever the hell his best friend was.

"Yeah," said Henry, after a moment, standing, "maybe he does." He looked around the office and sighed. "Well, let's get your car."

Henry and Gus turned to leave, when Henry's cell phone rang. He didn't stop as he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, muttering a greeting distractedly. But he heard a heavy pause on the other line, followed by a single word that made him stop and Gus run into his back.

"Dad."

...

"Dad." Shawn barely choked out the word in his relief to hear his father's voice. His voice was weak. Strangely weak. When did it get so hard to breathe?

And when did that wall get so close?

Shawn grunted as he fell into the wall again. He barely caught himself this time.

"Shawn?" was Henry's curt reply.

"Unless—" said Shawn, pressing against the wall, pushing himself toward the staircase with his back against the wood, seeming to find this a better idea than walking. Most of his weight was against the wall now, and Shawn felt a sudden relief that he didn't have to defy gravity anymore. "Unless you have another kid," continued Shawn, "then—then I'd hope you—you'd assume I'd be the one to call you—to call you Dad." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shawn knew he should be concerned with the fact that that simple sentence was enough to make him breathless. He hesitated on the wall, trying to catch his breath, barely registering Henry's next words.

"Shawn," He was annoyed. That was his I-don't-have-the-pateience-for-your-antics-today tone. That was Henry's usual tone when speaking to Shawn. Except, of course, when Shawn had gotten shot. Henry had been much more patient then. Shawn blinked, stopping his train of thought, realizing Henry had just said something. Shawn swallowed.

"You—you say something?" asked Shawn.

"Shawn," sighed Henry, his tone even more aggravated. "Where the hell are you? Gus has been calling you."

Shawn shut his eyes, continuing to push himself to the staircase. He was almost there. Maybe a few more feet. Shawn opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to rid himself of the blurriness. Maybe more than two feet. Or less.

Was the staircase  _moving_?

"I—" said Shawn, breathing hard, realizing he was already out of breath. "I—I don't—don't know. I don't know where—where I am." His head pounded, and Shawn nearly dropped the phone in an effort to place a hand to his temple.

"Do you know—where I am?" asked Shawn, delirium clear in his voice. Why was he delirious again?

"Are you drunk?" asked Henry. He wasn't worried. He was still annoyed. Despite the fear that was driving him, Shawn felt his heart drop a little. Here he was, kidnapped and hurt, and his father was annoyed with him. He didn't even care.

"I—I don't know where I am," repeated Shawn, wondering if the stairs were actually getting closer or if he was moving toward them. He couldn't remember.

"Shawn, how much have you had to drink—?"

"Doors," said Shawn suddenly. He passed more identical doors. Maybe if he described them his dad would know where he was. Shawn gazed at them, shifting himself painfully across the wall. He was slipping. Shawn froze, suddenly hearing a thud from somewhere not too far from him.

Trent was getting up.

"Doors…? Shawn—"

"I think they're—moving," said Shawn suddenly, watching them waver in his messed-up vision. "But—that could easily be the—the concussion talking."

Shawn felt for the first stair. He couldn't tell if it was there or not. And the last thing he wanted to do was fall down a flight of stairs. He took a shaking breath. Ready to step down, hoping that he was right.

He was.

But he also wasn't ready for the stair to give away underneath his weight.

Shawn cried out, his free arm lashing out to grab the railing, cursing the old, rotting wood. His heart jumped into his throat but Shawn didn't fall; he'd caught the rail. He balanced himself, blinking, the adrenaline clearing some of the delusion from his mind.

He was kidnapped.

He was being chased.

He was in the middle of a phone call.

"Dad," gasped Shawn, mentally berating himself. His entire walk down the hallway had been surreal. He gazed around the staircase, his vision still blurry and vertigo still claiming him. But fear had struck clarity in his head. "Dad, I need—I need help. Call Lassie. Call Jul—" Shawn stopped mid-sentence, unable to form her name. Something stung in his chest, and at the same moment, his footing suddenly betrayed him.

He grunted as he hit the ground, barely keeping a hold on the phone. His side burned and he slid down the rest of the stairs, trying desperately to pull himself onto his hands and knees. He put the phone back to his ear.

"—awn?"

"…Da—ad?" croaked Shawn, thoroughly winded. He lifted his eyes, squinting through the blurriness. He was facing another hallway—one that looked exactly like the one he'd just left.

"Shawn!" Henry's voice was concerned now.  _About time_ , thought Shawn. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, unsteady as he held the phone with his left hand. He felt carpet under his fingers. He heard Henry repeat himself, louder. "What are you talking about?"

"I—I don't remember all-all of it," whispered Shawn, trying to clear his voice. "They don't like me very much. Though I doubt I should care if my—if my kidnappers like me," he forced out, at the same time his arms gave out beneath him and he fell forward. He grunted, hitting the ground hard. "They said th-they want to use me as—as ransom—"

"Shawn, please tell me you're kidding." Said Henry suddenly, his voice low. Serious. "This is another one of your jokes. It's a prank. And if it is, you need to stop it right—"

"It's not a joke!" hissed Shawn through clenched teeth, his side protesting at Shawn's attempt to get back to his feet. He'd gotten his sneakers under him, trying to lift his body off the ground. But he felt so heavy. So heavy.

So tired.

"I—I got out of the room," said Shawn, trying his best to keep his eyes open, as he continued trying to right himself, "but he's not—he's not unconscious, Dad, he's still up there—"

Shawn heard Henry talking to someone. Finally, Shawn had leveled himself back on his hands and knees, but the swimming in his head was overpowering. He leaned against the wall beside him. It was chilled. He pressed his head against the wood, letting it soothe the ache. He knew he shouldn't stay here. He needed to get out.

But the cold felt so good...

"Shawn," interrupted Henry, and Shawn reluctantly opened his eyes. "Gus and I are on our way to the police station. Do not hang up this phone. We're going to get a trace on your call. Run."

It took Shawn a moment to reply. "I can't."

Henry was dead silent. It took a moment for him to ask, "Why not?"

"I—can't really—see—straight." whispered Shawn.

"Shawn—" Henry's voice was urgent. Shawn almost thought he sounded angry. But what did he do wrong this time? He never intended to get himself into trouble. He didn't want to deal with this. He had enough to deal with. Losing Juliet had almost flipped a switch him him, killing his motivation. His strength. His anything.

"Shawn!"

Shawn blinked his eyes open. Henry was calling his name. No, wait that wasn't Henry, that was someone else he knew…

"…Gus?" whispered Shawn in confusion. He hadn't called Gus.

"Yes, Shawn!" said Gus. "Shawn—"

"I called my—my dad," said Shawn absently, rolling his head across the wall, trying to find the coldness again. "Was I—was I talking to you the whole time?"

"No, I'm with your dad," said Gus quickly, "but Shawn—"

"With my—my dad?" asked Shawn, puzzled. "D'you guys hang—hang out often?"

"Shawn," said Gus exasperatedly. Almost fuzzy. What was fuzzy? "Please tell me you—you weren't in a car accident this morning."

Shawn opened his eyes. Gus definitely sounded fuzzy. And suddenly, Shawn realized it wasn't Gus that sounded off.

It was the phone connection.

Shawn took a breath, thinking back to Gus' question, hearing the connection stutter, and he finished his answer.

"No," he told Gus.

Gus heaved a sigh on the other line.

"It was a cab."

And then the line went dead.


	8. Chapter 8

"Shawn?"

Henry turned toward Gus, seeing relief wash over his son's best friend. "That's Shawn?"

Henry nodded, listening to Shawn's answer. All traces of Henry's concern from the moments before Shawn's call disappeared.

His son was cracking a joke.

"Shawn, you can't just drop off the face of the earth like you did. Gus was worried sick."

Shawn paused before he answered. Shawn hardly ever hesitated. "You… you say something?"

A mix of suspicion and irritation jumped into Henry's tone as he said, "Shawn, where the hell are you? Gus has been calling you."

"I-I don't know. I don't know where I am." Henry's expression shifted. Something was wrong. Shawn never stuttered. Something was… wrong. "Do you know where I am?" asked Shawn softly.

Henry's expression deepened in skepticism. Why was his son talking like that? It was almost as if—

Henry sighed, the frown returning on his face, finally understanding what was wrong with his son. "Are you drunk?"

Upon hearing Henry's question to Shawn, Gus massaged his temples, leaning against the wall. Gus had been so worried. So, so worried, and Shawn was just out at a bar getting wasted. That was perfect. Just perfect.

Shawn didn't deny it like Henry expected him to, as Shawn always had in his teenage years. Instead, he repeated, "I… I don't know where I am."

Henry rubbed his face. Now he was going to have to track down his son in one of the hundred bars around town. This was not how he was expecting to spend his afternoon. Well, thought Henry, grabbing for the handle and opening the door, might as well find out how bad he is. "Shawn, how much have you had to drink—"

"Doors," said Shawn suddenly. Henry stopped halfway through the doorway, and Gus nearly walked into him again. Henry tried to swallow his annoyance. His son was incredibly wasted. Didn't that bartender know when to cut him off?

"Doors…?" repeated Henry, shaking his head, resuming his walk to the truck. "Shawn—"

"I think they're… moving." said Shawn. God, he better not be trying to leave the place and get to his bike, thought Henry suddenly. Shawn was delusional. He was in absolutely no state to be driving. Henry was about to command that Shawn sit down and wait patiently for him to pick him up, when Shawn continued, "But that could easily be the… the concussion talking."

Concussion? Shawn had a concussion? Oh, no, thought Henry. Please tell me he didn't get into a bar fight.

Before Henry could say anything, he heard a pained cry from Shawn. Henry froze on his walk to the car.

"Dad," said Shawn quickly. Fluidly. Almost as if he'd sobered in the past two seconds. "Dad, I… I need help. Call Lassie. Call Jul—" Some commotion sounded from Shawn's line. Loud. Fast. Noises Henry couldn't make out.

Well, all except the grunt of pain.

"Shawn!" exclaimed Henry, heart picking up. "What's going on? Shawn!"

It took a long moment for Shawn to say, in a very small voice, "Da—ad?"

Shawn's tone of voice terrified Henry. The last time he'd heard that voice, Shawn had been shot, ready to pass out next to Lassiter's car.

Quickly discarding the theory that Shawn was drunk, he thought back through the conversation.

Concussion.

Doors.

Dad, I need help.

"Shawn!" said Henry, still hearing Shawn's faint groan of pain. He turned to Gus when Shawn didn't answer.

"Is he okay?" asked Gus, picking up Henry's change in tone. "What's wrong?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Henry, louder, momentarily ignoring Gus.

"I… I don't remember all of it," said Shawn, his voice unable to mask his obvious struggle to form the words. "They don't like me very much. But I doubt I should care if my kidnappers like me—" Shawn's words were cut off by a grunt. "They said they want to use me as—as ransom—"

Henry's heart had frozen in his chest. "Shawn, please tell me you're kidding. This is another one of your jokes. It's a prank. And if it is, you need to stop it right—"

"It's not a joke!" hissed Shawn, biting off each word, making Henry's breath hitch in his chest. "I got out of the room, but… but he's not unconscious, Dad, he's still up there—"

"Get in the truck, Gus!" yelled Henry, throwing open his own door. Without question, Gus let himself into the passengers side. Henry pulled himself into the driver's seat, fumbling with his keys.

"Mr. Spencer, you're scaring me," said Gus, watching him warily. "Where's Shawn?"

"He's in trouble," muttered Henry, finally getting the keys in the ignition. "He's been kidnapped."

"He's been what?!"

"Shawn," said Henry, starting his truck, tearing out of the driveway and onto the street. "Gus and I are headed to the police station. Do not hang up this phone. We're going to get a trace on your call." He took a sharp right, nearly throwing Gus against the window, saying a word that gave himself chills. "Run."

Shawn paused, and Henry could hear his staggered breathing. It terrified him. But not as much as the next words Shawn spoke. "I can't."

"Why not?" asked Henry, his voice clipped, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"I… can't really… see… straight…"

Henry stepped on the gas, hearing Shawn's strength draining through his voice. "Shawn! Stay with me, here, son! You need to get out of there—"

"Oh my god," whispered Gus, making Henry's head whip toward him.

"Oh your god what?"

Without another word, Gus snatched the phone from Henry's hand and pressed it to his ear, ignoring the older man's protest, saying, "Shawn!"

Gus listened to silence for a moment, ready to shout his friend's name a second time, when he heard Shawn's voice. "...Gus?"

The weakness of Shawn's voice was unsettling, and Gus felt a cold chill slip down his spine. "Yes!" he said. He didn't want to ask Shawn this question… but it would make so much sense. It fit. "Shawn—"

"I called my—my dad," said Shawn suddenly, and Gus could read the delirium in his voice. "Was I talking to you the whole time?"

Gus grasped onto his seatbelt as Henry passed cars around them, weaving dangerously through the lanes. "No, I'm with your dad. But, Shawn—"

"With my dad?" asked Shawn, confused. "D'you guys hang out often?" The slur in his words tripled the rate of Gus' heart.

"Shawn," said Gus exasperatedly, taking a short breath. "Please tell me you weren't in a car accident this morning."

There was a terrifying second of silence. Gus's chest constricted, forgetting to take a breath. And then, finally, Shawn said, "No."

Gus sighed in relief.

Until he heard Shawn's next words.

"It was a cab."

The line clicked off. Gus shouted Shawn's name, but the dial tone played back at him.

"I lost him!" exclaimed Gus, dialing Shawn's number. "The line went dead!"

"What?!" Henry whipped back toward him, barely keeping an eye on the road. "Call him back!"

"I'm trying!" stressed Gus, slamming the phone back to his ear, ignoring the dull pain, and hearing the dial tone again. "He must have lost service!"

"Damn it!"

"How far are we from the station?" asked Gus, dialing Shawn's number again.

"Five minutes. But I can get us there in two."

"God, I can't believe it was him," whispered Gus, his face twisted in worry as the call dropped a third time. He dialed again.

"You can't believe what was him? What are you talking about?" demanded Henry.

"That case Lassiter and Juliet are working on," said Gus, listening to the call drop a fourth time. He kept at it. "There was a second person in the cab, but—"

"They didn't find him," sighed Henry, remembering the files on Juliet's desk in perfect detail. Hit and run. One dead.

One missing.

"God," breathed Henry, speeding his truck to a speed he'd never gone before. The truck shuttered.

"Come on, Shawn," whispered Gus, dialing the number again. "Please."

"…Gus?"

Shawn listened to the silence on the other line. Fear spiked into his veins like a string of adrenaline. His heart beat furiously in his chest, making his head pounded harder and the room sway faster. He swallowed hard against the sudden nausea. "Dad?" he asked, his voice—dare he admit it—weak.

He didn't get an answer. Did his Dad hang up on him? A spark of irritation surged through him. Of course his Dad hung up on him. He was angry with Shawn. He seemed far happier with the idea that Shawn was pulling a prank on him. But his dad hated his pranks. Why was he begging Shawn to tell him he was playing a joke?

The coldness from the wall was long gone and Shawn wished for it back. His head seemed to be ready to explode. The pain ebbed behind his eyes and at his temples, searing straight through his every nerve. Was that what was making him so tired?

Shawn shifted on the wall, trying to find something to soothe the pain. Anything. But he'd shifted too far and was suddenly hitting the ground, falling on his right side—luckily his uninjured side—and he gasped from the sudden transition. The same shift in his mind occurred now as it did on the staircase and suddenly reality was flooding in, and Shawn opened his eyes. The room seemed more vivid now.

The phone connection broke. Now he remembered. No one hung up on him. On the contrary, Henry said they were going to track his phone. They were going to find him.

He was going to be okay.

Shawn sighed, relieved.

And then he heard it.

The stairs were creaking, as if someone was descending them with caution. They probably knew about the rotting wood that caused Shawn to fall through the step. White-hot adrenaline was shooting back through his veins and Shawn found himself scrambling to his feet, fumbling with his lack of coordination. He pushed himself off the ground with a grunt, quickly throwing a hand over his mouth as he pushed himself up. He had a chance against Trent if he hid.

Shawn half-pulled, half-dragged himself to his feet, biting his lip to keep from groaning as his side stung. He reached out toward the wall as he stood, his legs shaking beneath him.

The stairs continued to creak.

Heart slamming in his chest, Shawn shoved himself down the hall, staggering to the first door he found. He twisted the door handle and fell inside, not even bothering to cushion his landing. He hit the ground, his teeth clamping together so hard he nearly broke them. Shawn just barely held in a cry of pain. He tasted blood in his mouth.

He was so tired. So, incredibly tired. Shawn's eyes drifted shut. He would only lay here for a few seconds. Just to rest. He'd just absorb some of the cool relief the floor gave him to soothe his head, wait for the pain to subside in his side, and—

Another stair creaked, followed by a grunt in pain.

Trent was getting closer.

Shawn's eyes shot up, and he was suddenly aware of how close he had been to passing out. No, thought Shawn, shoving himself up off the floor again, feeling the pain reverberate within his skull, you need to hide.

With effort, Shawn shut the door, turning around, heaving out a shallow breath. Still on his hands and knees, Shawn looked around the apartment. It looked like the one he'd been in upstairs, except this was smaller and less furnished. The window wasn't just of sky, it showed a few more buildings, and a—

Thud.

Trent was in the hallway.

Driven by pure fear, Shawn crawled to the closest doorway he could find—a closet. He dragged himself inside, grateful he could kick the doors shut. He pushed himself into the corner of the small closet, wishing there were coats hanging that he could hide himself with. He settled back into the corner, pushing against it. It was cold in the closet. Dark. Quiet.

Phone.

Shawn opened his eyes to the darkness. The phone was still clutched tightly in his hand. Feeling as if it were made of lead, Shawn lifted the phone to his eyes, hitting the home button. The screen flared to life, burning his eyes, sharp pain attacking his head. He squeezed his eyes shut instinctively, then cracked them open, trying to find the numbers again. It was so blurry.

But the bars of signal were unmistakeable.

He fumbled, holding the phone as close to his eyes as he dared, the pain intensifying, his fatigue sneaking up on him. But finally, he heard the dial tone, and pressed the phone to his ear. He shut his eyes and waited.

-.-

Time had frozen.

Just stopped. The world ceased turning. Everything in existence just seemed to pause. Because this was crazy.

This couldn't be happening.

And yet it seemed like it was. Juliet walked in tow of Lassiter as they strode into the SBPD. Juliet subconsciously picked up her pace to match Lassiter's. Sound came as echoes to her ears, only hearing snippets and distant voices and conversations around her. Officers turned and stared as Lassiter led a handcuffed and desperate Hal. He was going on about wanting a phone call. Lassiter shoved him to an officer in front of him and Juliet. It took her a moment to realize he stopped walking and she almost ran into him.

Of all the people in Santa Barbara, of all the cab stations in the city, it had to happen to Shawn.

It had to be Shawn.

"O'hara."

Someone spoke her name, and cut through the distortion that had been her temporary reality. She blinked and looked up as Lassiter stared at her, in the doorway of the chief's office.

"Sorry," mumbled Juliet, following him inside.

The chief was standing in front of her desk, watching the officer lead Hal away through her windows. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded.

"We have good reason to believe we know who else was in that cab," said Lassiter, pulling out the cab station driving records Hal had given them. He held them for Vick, both he and Juliet hesitating. Juliet said it.

"It's Shawn," she said, barely choking out his name. Up until now, she'd felt numb. But… this was happening.

Shawn was in danger.

Karen Vick took the paper and found the address. She looked between her detectives. "How the hell…?"

"We don't know anything," said Lassiter, "nothing telling us what Spencer could have possibly wanted with this cab station."

"Shawn… I think—I know I need space."

Oh, god.

Juliet bit her lip.

"Well, what have you found?"

Juliet shook herself and answered. "We found this." She dropped the bag of money onto the table in the corner of the chief's office. Juliet zipped it open and handed the chief a wad of cash. Vick's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What does this have to do with a cab station?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't know," said Juliet. "Hal—the kid in interrogation room A—was there. He's the nephew of the owner. All he told us was that there was money trouble and sketchy business transactions."

"And the missing person," said Vick, "we're assuming that it's… Spencer?"

"Yes." said Lassiter. "Somehow, Spencer, five million unmarked bills and a dead Mexican are related."

"He was Indian, Carlton," muttered Juliet.

"This is officially too priority then," said Vick, and she rushed past them, calling the officers of the SBPD to attention and briefing them on the case.

"Oh, god," muttered Lassiter suddenly.

"What?" asked Juliet, following his gaze. Over by the main doors, Gus and Henry Spencer were running inside the building.

Lassiter and Juliet left the chief's office, hurrying to Gus and Henry. They stopped them before they could interrupt the briefing. Lassiter held out a hand to stop them, and said, "Spencer, Gustor, what are you—"

"It's Shawn," panted Henry. "Shawn's been kidnapped, we—"

"Yeah, we know," said Lassiter. "We're already trying to—"

"You know?" exclaimed Henry, straightening, taking a step toward Lassiter. "You know my son has been kidnapped and you don't have the sense to contact me? Are you out of your damned mind?"

"Please," said Juliet suddenly, taking a quick step forward, effectively standing between them. "We just found out, Mr. Spencer—"

"He was in the cab, Juliet!" said Gus, still out of breath.

"How did you two know?" asked Juliet suddenly, making Lassiter end his glaring contest with Henry to look at Gus.

"Shawn called me." said Henry heavily.

"He did?" breathed Juliet. "When? Where is he? Is he hurt?"

"Maybe ten minutes ago." sighed Henry impatiently. "He doesn't know where he is. He said he was kidnapped. He was delusional—I thought he was talking crazy."

"What else is new?" muttered Lassiter.

That earned him a slug on the arm from Juliet, and a near-tackle from Henry if Gus hadn't latched onto his arm and held the man back.

"Carlton!" chastised Juliet, stepping in front of him as Lassiter's scowl deepened.

"The call dropped," said Gus, still not removing a struggling Henry, who was determined to land his fist in Lassiter's face. "We haven't been able to reach Shawn since."

"What is going on here?"

Everyone turned to see Vick approaching them. The office had suddenly become busy with newfound purpose. She looked between Gus and Henry and her two detectives. "Henry, Mr. Gustor—"

"Shawn called them," said Juliet quickly.

"Is he alright?" she asked, concern etching into her professional demeanor.

"No, he's been taken and he's hurt," said Henry in a strained voice, finally letting go of his attempt to clock Lassiter. Gus released him and Henry massaged his shoulder.

"What exactly did he tell you?" asked Vick.

"He…" Henry thought back to the conversation, sifting through the dialogue. "He said he didn't know where he was but there were doors. He wanted me to call the SBPD, and that he'd been kidnapped. He said—" Henry stopped speaking when his cell phone, still in Gus' hand, went off. All eyes darted to the device. Gus read the screen, his eyes snapping up to theirs as he answered the call, hearing words he'd never been so happy to hear.

"…Hey, buddy."


	9. Chapter 9

"…Hey, buddy." Shawn leaned more of his weight back into the corner of the closet. Talking took a lot more effort now than it did ten minutes ago. And effort was tiring.

"Shawn!" Gus' relieved tone was almost comforting to Shawn. Gus cared. He was going to rescue him. "Are you alright?"

Shawn swallowed, then whispered, "Define…alright."

Gus' voice suddenly switched to Henry's, and Shawn barely took notice. "Shawn, where are you, son? Are you safe?"

"You're on speaker," added Gus.

Suddenly, someone with a voice very similar to the chief's, yelled, "Someone get a trace on this call! Now!"

"I'm… I'm in a closet," said Shawn, still not opening his eyes. His little safe haven was cold and quiet. He could rest.

"A closet?" asked Henry. "Shawn—"

"Is—is Lassie with you?" asked Shawn. His breathing was slowing and he felt a great deal heavier. Shawn's heart stuttered in his chest, and he cracked his eyes open, panicked. What was going on with him?

"Spencer! What the hell were you doing at a sketchy cab station?"

That was Lassiter, no question about it.

"In my defense… I didn't know… it was sketchy… at the time," said Shawn, trying desperately to catch his breath. He felt his eyes drift shut again. "Lassie… you—you met my kidnappers.."

There was silence on the other line, followed by a hissed curse word that Shawn barely caught.

"Do you know why they took you, Shawn?" asked Vick.

"Something…" whispered Shawn, shifting uncomfortably in the corner. "Something about money. At the station."

Shawn heard Lassiter and Vick talking to the others, but Shawn didn't have the strength to listen. He sank further back into the wall, his head starting to fall to his shoulder.

"—Spencer!"

Shawn jolted upright, his eyes flying back open. His head burned. He gripped the phone with a shaking hand and pressed it back to his ear. He'd been so, so close to unconsciousness. "Sorry," he whispered.

"We know what they're after," said Lassiter. "We've got the five mill—"

"Son, you said you were hurt," said Henry suddenly, interrupting Lassiter.

"Mhm," mumbled Shawn. Shawn's eyes were closed again. He didn't remember closing them.

"Shawn!" Henry nearly shouted. "Stay with us, kid! Now, where are you hurt?"

"M'head," slurred Shawn, feeling his head tilt dangerously close to his shoulder again. He mentally shook himself again. "I'm…. I'm really tired."

"No, Shawn! You have to stay awake!"

Shawn's eyes opened. That wasn't his dad's voice. Not Gus'. Not Lassiter's. Not even the chief's. His breath hitched.

"J-Jules?"

Juliet paused, then said, "Yeah, Shawn, it's me."

A mix of emotions trailed through him, enough to cause a sharp stab of pain in his head. Shawn took a sharp breath, pushing even further back into the wall. He was hit by such a strong wave of vertigo he almost dropped the phone. "Anytime you guys… you guys wanna come rescue me," said Shawn as the pain began to subside and he leaned back into the corner, "would… would be good."

"Where are the people who took you?" asked the chief suddenly.

Shawn paused, trying to work up the courage to speak. He felt his eyes shut again. "I'm not sure. One—one of them is looking… for me."

"We've got a trace on him!" an unfamiliar voice shouted. Dull relief coursed through Shawn's veins. He wanted to say something, but the words didn't come. He felt himself slipping down the wall as his body felt very, very heavy.

"—hear that, Shawn?" asked Gus. "We're coming for you, buddy!"

"Shawn?"

Shawn's head slowly fell to his shoulder again but he didn't have the strength to lift it. He knew he should open his eyes. He knew what would happen if he didn't. He could vaguely hear someone trying to get his attention, but his hand was pulling away, the phone no longer by his ear.

After what seemed like only a moment, Shawn jolted at a voice. Voices were yelling. Shawn's eyes shot open and he quickly realized he had just momentarily passed out. But how long was he out?

And what happened to the phone?

Dazed, Shawn fumbled with his hands along the closest floor, looking for where he dropped the device.

Until he realized what it was that woke him up.

The door to the apartment he was hiding in burst open, and Shawn heard the voices clearer now.

"—hiding in one of these damned rooms, isn't he?"

"I've already searched the others, it's got to be this one."

"This is why I shouldn't have left you in charge, Trent! Useless! Completely useless!"

Shawn felt the floor creak underneath their weight, and he froze, terrified. They were walking toward the closet. Shawn clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to be completely silent. He pushed as far as he could into the back of the closet, pulling himself as tight as possible.

The footsteps stopped outside the closet door. Shawn's heart hammered in his chest and thudded in his ears, making his head throb viciously. He pressed harder into the wall, his eyes wide.

Another step closer.

"He's inside the closet."

Shawn's heart dropped.

The doors were shoved open, daylight streaming in and nearly blinding him. Shawn threw up an arm to protect himself from the glare.

"You son of a bitch," growled the man, reaching down and grabbing Shawn's arm, dragging him out of the closet, throwing him to the floor of the apartment. Shawn grunted as he landed on his side, the transition jarring his already unsteady vision.

"What's this?"

Shawn lifted his head, realizing the man he knew as Javier picked up his cell phone from the floor of the closet. His face was contorted in rage.

But it was nothing compared to his boss.

Shawn was lifted and thrown against a wall with a speed his mind could barely register. His back hit the wall, jarring his cramped muscles, and making his head throb viciously. A hand was at his collarbone and a face dropped into his vision, two eyes that were black with fury staring into his.

"You," spat the man, shoving Shawn further into the wall with the force of the word. "What. Did. You. Do."

"I—" began Shawn in a hollow voice, but the man pulled him abruptly from the wall and slammed him hard back against it. A strained cry escaped him as Shawn clenched his teeth, his head throbbing with an intensity he'd never experienced before.

"Did you call them?" the man demanded, shaking Shawn when Shawn didn't respond. "Look at me!" Shawn reluctantly lifted his head, opening his eyes against the sharp pain at his temples. "The cops. Did you call them?"

Shawn took a shuddering breath, cringing through another wave of pain. He swallowed hard and said, "N-no."

"He's lying!" hissed Javier, somewhere behind the man.

"N-no…signal," whispered Shawn, trying to keep his eyes open, hoping the man would buy his lie.

"Is there signal in here, Trent?" asked the man, his eyes never leaving Shawn's.

After a pause, Trent answered, "Well, no, his phone doesn't have signal here."

The man pinning Shawn glared at Shawn, seeming almost reluctant to release him. He finally did, and Shawn fell back against the wall.

They bought it.

Relief coursed through his veins.

Until the men heard the shouting.

"SBPD!"

Dozens of distant voices were yelling out, somewhere in the lower floors of the apartment building. Shawn felt relief hit him even stronger, ready to shut his eyes and relax.

The SBPD was there.

He was going to be fine.

It was over.

"Get him up!" hissed the man, and Shawn's eyes shot open as he felt Javier and Trent yanking him painfully to his feet, the room swimming in his vision. Shawn cringed as pain stabbed behind his eyes. The man suddenly crossed the room and went to the window, breaking it with his elbow. He turned to his partners. "Come on, there's a fire escape. Get him out of here."

Shawn was roughly shoved toward the window. No, no, begged Shawn. He dug his heels into the floor, tugging against the grips the men held on his body. Both men increased their strength, and Shawn stumbled, reluctantly allowing the men to drag him toward the window.

"No—!" screamed Shawn through his teeth, trying to yank his arms out of their grasp, but suddenly felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, sending his vision into sudden darkness. When he blinked his eyes open again, he was in front of the window.

The boss was on the other side of the window, standing on the rusting fire escape, reaching out. He grabbed Shawn's jacket and pulled, but Shawn threw out an arm against the wall of the apartment, holding onto it as the man continued trying to tear him out of the room. Shawn grunted as the muscles in his arms screamed.

"Stop fighting!" demanded the man, yanking harder, making Shawn's arm buckle and he fell forward through the window, his back striking the metal railing of the fire escape. Shawn screamed as pain erupted in his side, but a hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth, muffling his cry. He tried to push himself up, but was suddenly lifted by the back of his jacket and an arm was around his neck, forcing him to bend a painful angle.

The men started down the narrow staircase, the man and Shawn behind them. Shawn's staggered vision made him incredibly unclear of just how high up they were. He saw the street, and flashing lights of the squad cars pulling up at the apartment building sway in his vision.

"Shawn!"

That voice was unmistakeable. Shawn blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision and examined the ground. There she was.

Juliet.

Juliet was running up the fire escape.

Shawn struggled against the man holding him, trying his best to get out of the choke hold. The man abruptly stopped, tightened his hold and yelled, "Back up! Get back up!"

Shawn tripped over the stairs behind him as the men retreated, running away from the cops ascending the stairs. Shawn desperately tried to get his feet underneath him, but the man was going too fast. He was dragging Shawn with him, the arm around his neck crushing him.

"Shawn!"

Everything was suddenly a blur. A gunshot went off, followed by an agonizing cry of pain. Shawn was thrown as the man holding him was attacked.

"We've got them!" exclaimed an officer.

Shawn hit the ground hard. He tried pushing himself up, but suddenly, Juliet was at his side.

"Shawn!" she cried, kneeling next to him, her hand traveling gently behind his head. Shawn lifted his eyes, meeting hers. He tried to respond, but he was too tired. Too heavy. He shut his eyes.

"Shawn!" exclaimed Juliet, gently shaking him.

He didn't open his eyes.

"Shawn!"

Shawn jolted upright. He blinked his eyes repeatedly but… he couldn't see anything. Darkness. Nothing.

He turned his head, looking for Juliet. She wasn't there. It was only darkness.

Pitch black.

Shawn tried to sit up when he realized something terrifying.

He was sitting up.

In the corner.

In the closet.

Heart threatening to rip out of his chest, Shawn whipped his head around, ignoring the burning pain in his head. Four walls. Cool air.

He'd been asleep.

He was still in the closet.

It had all been a dream.

"Shawn! Please, Shawn, answer me!"

The phone. The phone was still in his nearly-numb hand, still by his head.

"J-Jules—?" Shawn choked out.

"Shawn, thank god!" he heard the relief coat her words. "I've been trying to talk to you for the past fifteen minutes—"

Shawn shut his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. He'd been saved.

It felt so real.

"Shawn, what happened?"

"I—" he whispered, terribly out of breath. "I think I passed out."

Shawn picked his head up off the wall, a sudden realization dawning on him.

That was it.

He may have missed that detail, but his subconscious hadn't.

The fire escape.

There was a fire escape.

Kicking himself for not noticing something so blatantly obvious, Shawn pushed off the back of the wall, his cramped muscles protesting at the movement. He grunted through his teeth, his face contorting in pain.

"Shawn?" came Juliet's urgent voice.

"I… I think I know… a way out…" whispered Shawn. Just speaking those words alone deemed to be too much for him. His lungs seemed unable to draw in a proper amount of air. Shawn took shallow breaths as he struggled to keep his balance as he picked himself up. He reached for the door, and slid it open. Light burned his eyes and he shut them against it.

Wasn't Jules mad at me? thought Shawn suddenly. He hadn't spoken to her since… since she asked him to move out.

Since she asked for space.

"We're on our way," said Juliet, interrupting Shawn's thoughts. "You're in Lennox Apartments. It's a run down apartment building that got shut down a few years ago," said Juliet quickly. "No one's decided what to do with the building so it hasn't been touched."

Did she forget she was mad…? wondered Shawn blearily as he dragged himself slowly out of the closet, feeling a pull at his chest, hating the idea of leaving his safe haven. He crawled to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. Just that movement was enough to drain his strength again.

"Shawn, talk to me!" said Juliet suddenly.

Maybe she's forgiven me, thought Shawn, and the coherent half of his mind suddenly snapped, Don't be stupid. She's trying to save your life, moron. Then she'll go back to screening your calls. "Jules, I…" said Shawn suddenly, thinking maybe he should apologize. Maybe he just hadn't apologized enough. But he stopped his words short, hearing loud commotion down the hallway.

The men were coming.

"What is it?" asked Juliet desperately.

Shawn reluctantly pushed himself away from the wall, and using his free hand, pulled himself up by the window sill. It was a slow process. Once he was leaning against the sill, close to panting, he looked through the dirty glass. Sure enough, there was a fire escape. He'd noticed it when he first came into the apartment, but it didn't register in his screwed-up mind. At least his subconscious was paying attention.

"Talk to me!" whispered Juliet desperately, and Shawn realized he hadn't spoken for a while. Or answered her question. But talking was difficult—it used energy and air and Shawn was running low on both.

He lifted himself higher. He looked outside. He was about four floors up. He was in the side of the building, and next to the street below was a vast forest. Shawn cautiously looked behind him, checking to make sure he was alone, the movement angering his headache and reawakening his vertigo. He grasped the window sill firmly, seeing spots before his eyes. Don't pass out now, he begged himself. He opened his eyes and checked the apartment. He was still alone. He sighed and turned back to the window.

Shawn raised his arm, feeling his balance tilt slightly. He didn't want to do this. It was going to alert them.

But he didn't really have much of a choice.

Shawn broke the window with a jab of his elbow, just as Javier and Trent's boss had in his dream. The glass shattered and rained down on the sill. And just as Shawn expected, he heard shouting and heavy footsteps in the distance. They weren't on his floor.

But they soon would be.

Juliet yelled something, but Shawn didn't hear it. He'd pulled the phone away from his ear to use both hands to hoist himself onto the window, swaying dangerously. He carefully placed a hand over to the other side of the window, grasping at the brick of the building, and dragged himself forward. He felt a sharp pain in his knee, and with a gasp, realized he'd just kneeled on a shard of broken glass. Grimacing, he lifted his legs over the glass with caution, perching himself on the sill, and looked down.

The metal floor of the staircase seemed only three feet below him, but that was much more of a feat when it was moving. Shawn blinked, but his vision kept swaying. Colors melted in with each other making it hard to distinguish what he was seeing. Taking a breath, Shawn pushed himself off the ledge, hoping the ground was where he thought it was.

Turned out he was wrong.

It was more like six feet, and Shawn fell fast, coming dangerously close to catching his head on the railing. He hit the ground, throwing his hands up to cushion the blow to his head…

Forgetting that he was holding the phone.

Out of the corner of his vision, Shawn saw the small device fall through the steps of the fire escape, and plummet to the ground.

"Damn it," he hissed, turning his head toward the ground. It was a long way down.

He had to keep moving.

Shawn grabbed the railing, and pulled himself up, feeling twice as heavy as he did a few minutes ago. Back on his feet, he leaned against the rusting railing, panting. He was so tired. No, it was more than tired. Exhausted. His heart thrummed in his chest.

Holding the railing tightly, Shawn descended the stairs, shutting his eyes when the movement increased his nausea. His movements felt sluggish and uncoordinated. His attempt to rush down the stairs felt like he was trying to run underwater, like some outward force was determined to fight him. At his painfully slow pace, Shawn descended almost ten more steps, when…

"Hey!"

Shawn whipped around, seeing Javier's head poking out of the window Shawn had escaped from. Tripling his speed, probably only moving from a snail's pace to a sloth's, Shawn stumbled down the staircase, holding onto the metal rail with so much force his knuckles were white. He stumbled passing the third floor, his heel missing the next step, and Shawn fell forward, barely catching himself on the railing. Shawn let loose a cry and paused, trying to catch his breath. He held on for dear life, wanting to let go so, so badly. He just wanted to fall straight into oblivion. He wanted to sleep. To feel nothing. No pain. No fear.

Thud.

Shawn reluctantly lifted his head and looked behind him. Javier was running after him, his heavy footsteps shaking the entire staircase. The boss was climbing out of the window. Trent was mysteriously absent.

Ignoring his pain, ignoring the fact that the world was spinning, Shawn sprinted down the steps, groaning through the pain, keeping a hold on the rail, his vision a blur. He took step after step, stumbling his way down the rusty stairs.

Shawn blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the blur. His adrenaline was helping but it still wasn't easy to see.

He passed the second floor.

Halfway down to the first floor, Shawn felt the metal beneath him shutter. It took him a split second to realize what happened, his eyes darting to where the metal was fixed to the wall. The rust had eaten through the metal.

It was going to break.

Pushing himself to go faster, Shawn ran down the steps, but didn't get far enough. The metal snapped off, and Shawn fell the ten feet to the ground.

He didn't remember the fall. Just the impact. Pain exploded in his side and knee, as they absorbed most of the landing. He cried out, throwing his hands over his head, luckily cushioning the blow, so as not to further his concussion. He hit the ground and slid off the broken fire escape, rolling on the concrete, feeling bruises forming along his right side, the pain in his head nearly enough to paralyze him.

Coughing and roughly pushing himself off the ground, dazed, Shawn waited for the world to stop spinning. He heard the two men yelling behind him and Shawn's heart and mind somehow gained enough of a sense to get him to keep moving. He stumbled over his hands and knees, feeling sharp, fresh pain in his side and knee but he didn't stop. Don't think about it, he told himself firmly, focus.

Shawn ran forward, blindly heading in whichever direction was right in front of him. That was all he was capable of. His legs felt like lead. His head was pounding hard, strong waves of pain lacing through his veins and pulsing behind his eyes, and it took much effort just to keep his eyes open.

Shawn vaguely heard his own staggered breathing as he stumbled forward, trying to move fast but he could have been at a crawling-pace for all he knew.

His world was suddenly enveloped by different shades of green and brown, and a fragment of a memory suddenly came back to him. There was a forest behind the apartment building. He must be heading inside it. Shawn sighed internally, blinking rapidly, feeling his vision start to slowly piece itself back together. He made out the trees around him, twisted roots and branches on the floor and Shawn begged himself not to trip.

He didn't know how long he staggered into that forest, but he heard the men shouting in the distance behind him. Oh, come on! thought Shawn angrily. His eyes flicked around the forest, tiredly trying to pick a direction.

"Now, Shawn, what do you do when an assailant is chasing you?"

His last kidnapping. Shawn's father's words echoed in his head. That memory could help him now just as it did then, right?

"Zig-zag, Shawn! Never go in a straight line! A straight line is the shortest distance between two people!"

That was right. Shawn took a sharp turn, heading in a new direction. But… wait a minute. His dad's lesson taught him what do do when an assailant was chasing him. Not two. Shawn sighed. Did the zig-zag rule still apply?

Shawn's vision was suddenly spotty again, and he stumbled into a tree beside him, cringing as it woke the pain in his side. He pushed himself off the trunk, panting, not allowing himself to rest. He had to get away.

And then he heard something beautiful.

"SBPD!"

The calls were faint. Somewhere far behind him. But they were there. Shawn almost smiled, so overjoyed. The cops were there. He was going to be rescued.

They were there.

As he stumbled to a stop, ready to turn back and follow the voices of the officers, Shawn realized his stop was far too abrupt for his mind to register. An intense wave of vertigo struck him, sending him falling to the size, narrowly missing another tree trunk. He hit the ground, crying out, his head spinning so violently he couldn't move. Shawn took short, fast breaths, and tried to push himself up, but his arms wouldn't respond.

"Help," he whispered, feeling strength drain out of him. He leaned his head back on the ground, his eyes falling shut without his consent, and he was suddenly falling into black, silent nothingness.


	10. Chapter 10

"…Hey, buddy."

Gus felt his heart slamming in his chest, letting out the breath he'd been holding for so long. It was Shawn. His best friend's voice had never sounded so good.

"Shawn!" exclaimed Gus, pulling the phone away from his ear, his fumbling fingers hitting the speaker-phone button. "Are you alright?" he asked, though as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how stupid they were. It was just a gut reaction. A default question.

A hope, more than anything.

It took Shawn a moment to answer, and when he did, Gus felt his own breathing stutter to hear just how weak his best friend came off. "Define… alright."

"Shawn," said Henry suddenly, taking the phone out of Gus' hand and holding it closer to himself. Gus didn't react; he felt too numb. The group shifted closer to Henry, who continued, his voice low and quick. "Where are you, son? Are you safe?"

"You're on speaker," added Gus, feeling that Shawn ought to know.

Vick's eyes were suddenly scanning her crowd of people, and she was yelling, "Someone get a trace on this call!  _Now_!"

Two officers rushed to the computer sitting at a desk, not too far from where the group was standing. One of them typed at the keyboard, a map jumping to life on the screen, the other officer looking over his shoulder.

"I'm… I'm in a closet," said Shawn. His voice seemed so small, almost childlike. Gus looked up at Henry, who looked just as stricken as Gus felt.

"A closet?" asked Henry hollowly, rubbing his face. He looked helplessly from the faces around him to the officers tracking the call. "Shawn—"

"Is—is Lassie with you?" asked Shawn suddenly, his voice a fraction stronger. Everyone turned to look at Lassiter.

"Spencer!" Lassiter exclaimed, "What the hell were you doing at a sketchy cab station?"

"Lassiter!" hissed Vick, shooting a glare toward him.

"In my defense… I didn't know it was sketchy… at the time," said Shawn, his breathing incredibly unsteady. The breaths he took were audible. Fear trailed like ice down Gus' spine.

His best friend was struggling to breathe.

"Lassie…" said Shawn slowly. "You—you met my kidnappers."

A small silence washed over the group as they turned to Lassiter, who froze at Shawn's words. Gus watched realization dawn in the man's eyes and Lassiter hissed a vulgar word under his breath. He shook his head. "I met them. Those two men at the cab station. I met them." He sighed sharply, anger welling up in his words. "They were claiming to be drivers at that damned station—"

"You met them?" demanded Henry, taking a step closer to Lassiter, a subtle red hue coloring his face. "You're telling me that you were face-to-face with the sons of bitches who kidnapped my son—!"

"I didn't know they kidnapped him!" growled Lassiter at Henry.

"Do you know why they took you, Shawn?" asked Vick suddenly, her glare shifting between Henry and Lassiter.

"Something…" whispered Shawn, his voice much quieter than it had been a moment ago, chilling Gus to the core. Shawn continued, the strength in his words uneven, "Something about money. At the station."

Everyone turned to the bag of money sitting in the chief's office. Gus pointed to it. "That! They want that for Shawn, let's give it to them!" He started for the office but Lassiter grabbed Gus' arm.

"Gustor," he said, sounding almost reluctant, "it doesn't work that way. We can't negotiate with kidnappers."

A tight knot formed in the pit of Gus' stomach. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Lassiter. "Look, Lassiter," said Gus, his voice dark, "I know you don't like Shawn. You've made that very clear. But he's my best friend and you better damn well trade that money for him or I swear to god—"

"Gus," said Henry, cutting him off.

"What?" snapped Gus.

"Lassiter's right," said Henry, seeming to force the two words through his teeth. "Police can't negotiate with kidnappers."

"But—" began Gus. "But… it's Shawn!" He turned to the chief. "You can't be serious—"

"Shawn," said the chief suddenly. "What can you tell us about the people who took you?"

No answer.

"Shawn!" said Henry. Gus stared at the phone, willing to hear his best friend's voice.

Nothing.

"Damn it," hissed Lassiter, yelling, " _Spencer_!"

It was a second before they could hear a very faint apology from the other line.

Too faint.

"We know what they're after," said Lassiter to Shawn, "We've got the five mill—"

"Son, you said you were hurt," said Henry suddenly, interrupting Lassiter. Shawn was too quiet.

Much too quiet.

"Mhm," mumbled Shawn, and it took a moment for the group to even register that the small mumble was from him.

"Shawn!" Henry nearly shouted. "Stay with us, kid! Now, where are you hurt?"

"M'head," slurred Shawn, making Gus' blood run cold. If Shawn had a concussion and he passed out, there was a chance he wasn't going to wake up. And Shawn's next words only fueled Gus' fear. "I'm…. I'm really tired."

But before Gus could say a word, Juliet beat him to it.

"No, Shawn! You have to stay awake!"

They looked to Juliet, who'd been frozen for most of the conversation. But her eyes were wide with fear, staring at the phone. They listened to a pause from Shawn's line.

"J-Jules?"

Gus watched Juliet hesitate, then quietly say, "Yeah, Shawn, it's me."

Gus thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Shawn, and he didn't speak for a moment. The chief shot a look to the officers tracking the call, trying to see how close they were. Then Shawn suddenly said, "Anytime you guys… you guys wanna come rescue me, would… would be good."

"Where are the people who took you?" asked the chief suddenly, turning back to the phone.

Shawn hesitated again, and it hurt Gus to realize that Shawn was struggling to simply keep up with the conversation. Shawn Spencer. Someone Gus could never seem to get to shut up.

And now he was straining to form words.

"I'm not sure." said Shawn quietly. "One—one of them is… is looking for me."

" _God_ ," whispered Henry, rubbing his face again, shutting his eyes.

"We've got a trace on him!" the officer at the computer shouted.

Every head whipped toward him, the chief at their side in seconds. The two officers were avidly talking to the chief about the location but Gus didn't hear any of it. He just heard the first outburst and that was enough for him. Giving Henry a half-hearted smile, he told Shawn, "Did you hear that, Shawn?" asked Gus, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen slightly, "We're coming for you, buddy!"

But he didn't get an answer.

"Shawn?" asked Henry, as he exchanged a look with Gus.

Silence.

"Did the call drop?" asked Henry, but they both looked at the screen. It was still connected.

Shawn just wasn't responding.

"Shawn!" yelled Henry. "Son, answer me!"

"We have a location," said Lassiter, holstering his gun and rushing back to the group. "It's an apartment building about thirty minutes out. Come on, O'hara." He looked at Gus and Henry. "Follow us, but stay out of the way." The four started out of the station, the chief yelling distant instructions to the rest of her officers.

"Shawn's not responding!" exclaimed Gus, taking the phone from Henry as they descended the steps. "Shawn!" he exclaimed again, still getting the same empty result. His heart spiked again.

"He's not?" asked Juliet sharply, stopping at the door to Lassiter's Fusion.

The four exchanged a quick look, all seeming to be thinking the same thing. Gus voiced their mutual question.

"Who's going to stay on the line with him?" asked Gus, lifting the phone.

"I'm his father," said Henry firmly, holding out his hand.

"No, you're driving. And I'm his best friend, but…" Gus looked to Juliet. "If anyone's going to get his attention, it's you."

Juliet hesitated, then nodded and took the phone and followed Lassiter into the car. Gus and Henry ran to Henry's truck, but Lassiter was speeding down the street with his sirens blaring before Juliet saw either of the men even climb into the old truck.

Juliet turned the phone in her hands, turning off speaker-phone, and pressed it to her ear. She quickly realized her hands were shaking. "Shawn?" asked Juliet, waiting to hear Shawn's voice in her ear.

She should have been answering his messages. She shouldn't have been screening his calls.

Maybe this never would have happened.

"Carlton," whispered Juliet. "Where is he?"

"Lennox Apartments. Old, burnt-out apartment building that went under a few years ago." said Lassiter, his voice low. Controlled. He sped through a red light, silently thanking his right to do so.

"Shawn," said Juliet desperately, louder. "Please, answer me!"

Nine calls. Nine. And each time she watched as her phone sent his calls to voicemail.

The silence on the other line tortured her. Lassiter took a sharp left, and the suddenness of it almost made her drop the phone.

"He's not answering, Carlton." she said. "He's not saying anything."

"Keep talking to him," replied Lassiter shortly.

"Shawn," she repeated. "Look, I need to know that you're okay. Talk to me." She cut off her words just before she felt her voice would crack. She swallowed. "Please, Shawn."

What if they found him? The evil thought snuck into her mind and suddenly Juliet's heart was tripling its rate.

"Anything?" asked Lassiter, casting a glance at her.

"No," said Juliet, then shifting her gaze to the road, she realized just how fast Lassiter was driving. She swallowed her fear, and yelled Shawn's name again.

And again.

And  _again_.

Juliet took a shaking breath, stressing his name again, "Shawn! Please, Shawn, answer me!"

And then she heard it.

"…J-Jules?"

Her heart stopped in her chest and she sank back into her seat in relief. She shut her eyes. "Shawn, thank god!"

"He's back?" said Lassiter suddenly, whipping toward her, his voice clipped. Juliet nodded, telling Shawn, "I've been trying to talk to you for the past fifteen minutes!"

She was met by another silence, but this time, she could hear his breathing. Ragged breathing.

Not good.

"Shawn, what happened?" she asked quickly.

"I—" whispered Shawn, terribly out of breath, and Juliet felt a pull in her chest at his weakness. "I think I passed out." Shawn let loose a pained grunt, sending Juliet's response out the window and her heart into a frenzy.

"Shawn?" she asked desperately.

It took him a moment to reply. "I… I think I know… a way out…" he whispered.

"We're on our way," said Juliet. She rambled off to Shawn about the apartment building, using what Lassiter told her. She waited for a reply.

But it never came.

"Shawn, talk to me!" said Juliet suddenly, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest.

"Jules, I—" began Shawn in a low, strained voice, his nickname for her tearing at her heart. Right now, she didn't care what happened between them. She couldn't care.

Not now.

" _What is it_?" asked Juliet.

"We're five minutes out," said Lassiter quickly, shooting concerned glances her way every few seconds. He took another hard left, and Juliet grasped tightly to her seatbelt.

And that's when she heard the glass shatter.

" _Shawn_!"

She was about to call his name again, but suddenly, the line went dead. She froze, then ripped the phone away from her ear. She looked at Lassiter. "It's dead, Carlton, the call dropped!"

"We're almost there," he said, stepping on the gas.

It was an agonizing six and a half minutes until Lennox Apartments came into view. Lassiter slammed on his breaks, jolting the car to a stop, and he and Juliet were running to the building seconds after. They weren't the first to arrive to the scene. A few patrol cars had beat them here. Various voices shouted SBPD, the announcement echoing loudly in the air. Officers were running inside the building, vests on, guns held in front of them.

"Detectives!" an officer called, standing in front of a patrol car, waving them over. Both Juliet and Lassiter had drawn their guns. Juliet looked up at the apartment building. The wood was so dark it seemed almost charred. A rusting sign hung on the front, reading Lennox Apartments in faded ink. The officer turned toward the building. "I already have teams inside the building, searching for your man."

Juliet and Lassiter nodded, and, without another word, rushed through the doorway into the darkened building.

* * *

Henry and Gus arrived at the scene only minutes after the chief did. Henry parked his truck haphazardly in the middle of the road, jumping out and sprinting to the building with a speed he didn't think he had anymore. Whipping his head from side to side, he searched for Vick.

"Karen!" he called when he spotted her, talking with an officer in front of the swarm of people in front of the building. He looked up at the mess of a structure.

"Henry," she said, cutting off her conversation with the officer, turning to him. "We have teams searching the apartment. Keep your distance," she said firmly, seeming to read the emotion in his eyes. Her voice softened a bit and she said, "We'll find him."

Gus was suddenly at Henry's side, panting. He doubled over, out of breath. "Could—you park—any further—away?" he panted, looking up at the man.

Henry rooted his feet to the ground, trying to fight the urge to sprint up the molding steps into the building to find his son himself. Shawn was inside. Shawn was hurt.

His son was in danger, and he had to sit tight and wait.

Henry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and took a few steps back, trying to rid his anxiety. They were going to find Shawn.

Shawn was going to be fine.

Henry didn't even realize he'd started walking away until Gus caught up to him.

"Mr. Spencer," he said, keeping up with Henry's brisk pace. "Where are you going?"

Henry stopped. He was suddenly staring at the side of the building, something on the ground catching his notice. He jogged across the pavement.

"Mr. Spencer!"

Something had glinted the setting sun off the ground. Henry walked over to where a fire escape seemed to have fallen apart. But the entire apartment building was a mess; this could easily have happened in a storm years ago. Henry ran his eyes over the debris.

And froze.

Shawn's phone. Shawn's phone was lying on the ground, the screen facing the sky, but cracked.

"Gus!" said Henry quickly, picking up the device. He held it for Gus. "It's Shawn's phone!"

_But why was it over here_?

Some commotion by the patrol cars had Henry and Gus sprinting back to the chief just as Juliet and Lassiter came out of the building with three other officers. They were carrying out an unmoving body, and Henry's heart jumped into his throat.

_Please… don't let it be Shawn_ … his heart whispered, pushing his way past the few officers scattered in the lot. Breathing hard, Henry took a tentative step closer, looking down at he body. He sighed in relief.

It wasn't Shawn.

"Found this guy on the fourth floor," said Lassiter to the chief, as they laid the man—dark-skinned, with tattoos staining most of his skin—down on the pavement. Vick muttered something about calling the paramedics. Lassiter looked up at the crowd of officers. "He was killed by a shot to the head." Sure enough, a bullet hole was centered between the man's closed eyes.

Henry looked down, heart still beating rapidly from the thought of watching the officers potentially carrying his son's lifeless body.

"Who is he?" demanded the chief, looking back down at the body.

"He's one of the men I met at the station," said Lassiter grimly. "He's one of the men who took Shawn."

"Did you find him?" asked the chief quickly, looking between her detectives. "Shawn—did you find him?"

Both detectives shook their head. Henry's heart gained speed. He turned away from the body, looking back to where he'd found Shawn's phone—

His eyes found the shattered fire escape again. His gaze followed the path of debris from the broken pieces of the staircase.

And they all lead in one direction.

"They're in the forest!" exclaimed Henry, pointing to the fire escape. "Shawn must have been chased down by his other captor," he said, adrenaline kicking into his veins.

All eyes followed Henry's to the fire escape. Without waiting for any response, Henry turned and sped toward the forest.

"Henry!" he heard Vick yell. But Henry was already disappearing into the trees.

It was time to find his son.

* * *

"Damn it—" hissed Lassiter, as he and Juliet pulled their guns again and ran after Henry. "O'hara, you go right. I'll go left. It'll be easier to find Shawn if we split up." They disappeared into the forest. Gus followed closely behind, ignoring Vick's shouted protest.

Adopting their plan of splitting up, Gus decided to go neither left nor right. He went straight. He kept a breakneck pace, ignoring the twigs and branches that whipped into his face. A bug whizzed by his ear and Gus slapped it away, barely containing a shriek of disgust. His chest tightened quickly, protesting his sudden expense of energy but he ignored it. Gus wasn't about to slow down.

He needed to find his best friend.

Gus passed tree after tree, squinting as the sun cast deep orange rays through the branches, the light beginning to fade. The trees were dense, holding a sort of heaviness in the air like a damp heat. Gus felt sweat drip down his back.

Twigs snapped under his feet, each small noise making him jump. He couldn't hear Lassiter or Juliet's footsteps anymore.

"Shawn!" hissed Gus. He would have yelled his friend's name, but a terrifying realization suddenly hit Gus. There was a reason the detectives didn't want Henry going into the forest. And a reason they wouldn't want him in here, either. Because Shawn wasn't the only person in this forest.

There was a killer in here, too.

Gus shivered, despite the humidity, and tried to make his steps quieter. He passed a thick oak, sap slimed down the trunk, and he made a mental note to keep his hands away from all trees.

Gus took another few steps, carefully distributing his weight over mossy ground, when he heard it. Rustling.

Someone was nearby.

Fear spiking into his veins, Gus froze, wondering what his plan was. There was a possible murderer standing only feet away from him, somewhere, shifting the leaves. Gus strained his ears.

A twig snapped.

Gus' heart beat rapidly against his rib cage.  _Fearless Gustor,_  he reminded himself. Another branch shifted. Terrified, Gus followed the source of the noise, slowly turning his head to the right. Someone was standing on the other side of the tree. Gus slowly crouched down and picked up the first thing his fingers came into contact with. It was a rock. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Gus took a step on the massive root of the oak, ready to face the man. If the man had a gun, he was screwed. He was so screwed.

Gus turned the corner and glanced around the tree.

And nearly had a heart attack.

The rock fell from Gus' grip as he fell back against the tree in relief.

"Gus!" exclaimed Henry, sighing in kind, lowering his own makeshift weapon—a thick tree branch. "God, Gus, I thought you were—"

"Yeah," panted Gus. "So did I."

Gus pushed himself off the tree, temporarily forgetting about the sap he'd been so apt to avoid. But he didn't care.

Shawn was in danger.

"Let's go find—" began Gus, but Henry suddenly clamped a hand over Gus' mouth and pulled the younger man to the ground. Gus' heart beat furiously. Henry slowly released his hold on Gus, keeping low, and putting a finger to his lips, then pointed silently past the cluster of trees behind them.

Someone was walking toward them.

Gus' eyes widened. The man was holding a gun. He had close cropped hair and tan skin, wearing ripped jeans and a dark t-shirt. Cuts were evident on his cheeks and forearms where twigs had scraped him.

Gus slowly turned toward Henry as they crouched behind the tree. "That's him!" whispered Gus almost inaudibly.

Henry nodded, his eyes glued to the man. The killer didn't seem to notice them yet. He was walking around, weaving between the trees, swatting away branches carelessly. His eyes were scanning the forest like a predator hunting its prey.

Gus slowly crept away from Henry. A shallow bush grew beside the oak, providing visual cover between himself and the man walking about eight or ten feet away. Gus crept forward on his arms and chest, keeping low to the ground. He felt Henry grip his ankle, but Gus silently shook him off.

Gus had a plan.

Moving slowly across the soft ground beneath him, trying not to think about how hard it will be to get the grass stains out of these pants, Gus maneuvered himself to a tree right across from the one he and Henry had taken cover behind.

Lifting himself cautiously back up off the ground, Gus slid his back up the trunk of the tree, sighing soundlessly in relief. Sneaking a look behind him, he realized the man was closer now, maybe only five or six feet away. He was so close Gus could smell the cheap aftershave off the man. Pressing his back firmly against the tree, his heart pounding in his ears, he watched as the man took another step closer.

A frantic movement had Gus turning his head back toward Henry, who was directly across from him, maybe four feet away. His eyes were wide and he was mouthing,  _what are you doing_?

Gus' eyes flicked back to the man, and he lifted a hand, jabbing his thumb at the killer, then making a swift punching motion.

To say the look Henry gave him was incredulous would have been an understatement. He shook his head furiously.

A twig snapped under the man's boot, halting Henry and Gus' silent argument. He was going to walk through the brush, between the trees Henry and Gus took cover behind.

_Fearless Gustor._

Gus took a breath, and held up three fingers to Henry.

Henry's eyes widened, shaking his head again.

Gus put a finger down.  _Two_.

Henry and Gus froze as another branch broke under the man's weight. Henry hesitated, then gave Gus a nod.

_One_.

The man stepped between the trees at the exact moment Gus finished his wordless countdown, and both Gus and Henry lurched up and tackled the man to the ground.

They hit the man hard, and the three men crashed to the ground. The killer cried out in surprise. Gus tumbled to the side, and suddenly felt a hand grab him by the scruff of his neck with an agonizing grip. He hadn't expected the man to recover so quickly.

Gus was thrown against the trunk of the tree Henry had hidden behind, and the wind was knocked clear out of him. Gus fought for breath, falling to his side. He suddenly heard the man grunt in pain. Gus panted, pushing himself off the ground, watching as Henry landed another punch across the man's face. Blood was streaming from the man's nose.

Henry grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, hissing through his teeth, "Where is my son?" The man grinned, blood staining his teeth. Henry shook him. "Tell me, damn it!"

But with surprising speed, the man swung his arm, holding the pistol tight in his hand, landing a blow across Henry's face. Henry fell back, grunting.

Gus pushed off the tree, but the gun was suddenly aiming at him. He froze, staring down the muzzle of the weapon.

The man cocked the gun.

Gus shut his eyes.

And the gunshot rang out in the air.

Gus heard the cry of pain. But he didn't feel the pain. Shouldn't he feel pain if a bullet had lodged itself in his chest? He cracked his eyes open.

The killer was lying back on the ground, clutching his now-bleeding arm, the gun on the ground, forgotten. Gus and Henry both whipped around as Lassiter ran toward them through the trees. The man feebly reached for his gun.

" _Freeze_!" shouted Lassiter. " _Do not move_!"

Henry scooped up the weapon and pulled himself to his feet, training the gun on the downed man.

Lassiter looked between Henry and Gus. "Are you two okay?"

Henry nodded, and Gus saw a small cut on the side of his face. Gus slowly stood, his back smarting where he'd hit the trunk of the tree. Lassiter stared down at the man on the ground, his expression suddenly paling. Henry and Gus noticed.

"What, Lassiter?" asked Henry, shifting his gaze between Lassiter and the man.

"This isn't him," muttered Lassiter. "This isn't the man I met."

"What?" demanded Henry and Gus in unison.

"There's three." said Lassiter in a low voice, shifting his gaze between Gus and Henry. "There's another kidnapper."

* * *

" _Freeze! Do not move!_ "

Juliet froze mid-step, hearing her partner's faint voice, somewhere in the distance. She must have wandered far because, if not for the silence of the forest, Juliet could have easily not heard.

She felt her muscles relax slightly at hearing Lassiter's words. They caught the man who'd been chasing Shawn.

Now they just needed to find Shawn himself.

Juliet resumed her pace, walking aimlessly through the forest, keeping her gun at her side regardless of the fact that the killer was apprehended. Where was Shawn? Did they find him?

Juliet called out, but she didn't get a reply. Of course, her voice didn't carry half as far as Lassiter's did. Juliet turned around and started heading back out of the forest.

And that was when she saw him.

There, lying on his back, about fifteen feet away from her, was Shawn.

Juliet's breath constricted in her throat and she ran, falling to Shawn's side.

Shawn's eyes were shut, his head fallen toward his shoulder. He was motionless. A deep gash under his hairline had bled down the side of his face, leaving a trail of dried blood staining his skin. Juliet felt her stomach twist at the sight. Bruises colored his face and his complexion was drained of color.

_God… please don't be dead_. Juliet's hand shook as she reached out and pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. His skin felt unnaturally cool against her touch, sending fear slithering down her spine. Unwelcome tears brimmed in her eyes as she waited, trying to get her fumbling fingers to find an artery.

A pulse beat back at her. It was weak, but it was there.

Juliet let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. He was alive. Shawn was going to be fine. Hesitantly, Juliet gently touched Shawn's cheek, careful to avoid the bruising, trying to rouse him. "Shawn?" she asked, hearing her voice crack as her breath caught in her chest. She searched his face. Shawn didn't react to her touch.

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Shawn, please, can you—can you hear me?" she asked, her voice somehow becoming quieter. She shifted her hand to his chest, suddenly terrified. She couldn't tell if he was breathing. The sun was setting and the light was fading—it was getting harder to see.

To her relief, Juliet felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly, her hand encountered something wet, and her eyes fell to his shirt. Blood had seeped through the material. His shirt was torn at his side, the ruined cloth covering whatever wound lay underneath. Juliet's heart jumped into a mad frenzy.  _How much blood has he lost_?

Shawn suddenly shifted, a low moan escaping his lips. Juliet gasped, startled. Her eyes snapped to Shawn's face. She quickly realized her hand had been resting on the wound in his side. She tore her hand away.

"Shawn?" she asked desperately, her hand cupping his cheek again, on the only part of his face that didn't seem to be bruised or bloody. His eyes were still shut, and Juliet willed him to look at her. "Shawn… Open your eyes, can—can you do that for me?"

Juliet watched the muscles in Shawn's face tighten as he tried to comply. He cracked his eyes open, seeming utterly disoriented. He blinked a few times, staring somewhere in front of him. Very slowly, he turned his head. When Shawn saw her, his eyes opened wider, his features screwed up in complete confusion. "J—Jules…?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Juliet smiled at the sound of his voice, speaking the nickname she hadn't heard for days, unable to help another tear from spilling down her cheek. "Shawn, thank god," she whispered. Shawn shifted again, then froze mid-movement, his face screwing up in a grimace. Juliet's other hand was suddenly on his shoulder. She watched helplessly as the pain laced through his features, feeling useless. Worry creased her face.  _How badly hurt was he_?

He blinked a few times, seeming to be caught between reality and whatever dazed state his concussion had left him in. He looked at her, suddenly concerned. "W-why are you… crying?" he asked, his voice so small it nearly broke her heart. Juliet hastily wiped away her tears.

"I'm not," she lied quickly, hastily wiping the tears away. She placed her hand back on his cheek, her eyes following the pattern of bruises. He'd been hit across the face. Repeatedly.  _Bastards_ , she thought, blind anger coursing through her veins. "Shawn, you're safe now," she told him, as though trying to convince herself more than him. "I'm going to get you out of here."

Shawn nodded, then stopped, cringing, seeming to realize moving his head was a bad idea.

"Shawn," said Juliet, feeling a pull in her chest. "Don't… don't move. Not yet, okay? You've got a pretty bad head injury," she said gently. Calmly. She shifted her eyes back down to his once-blue, checkered, button-down shirt. He'd been wearing that shirt on a date with her, only seven days ago. Now it was dark with blood.  _His_  blood.

Juliet felt sick.

"What happened to your side?" she asked, eyes following the stains, trying to gauge the severity.

Shawn blinked, suddenly perplexed again, asking, "W-what?"

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she repeated her question, terrified of his condition. Shawn didn't even seem to be tracking their conversation. "Your side, Shawn. You're hurt. What happened to you? Do you remember?"

Shawn looked at her, puzzled, his eyes unfocused. "My… m' side?" he slurred, sluggishly trying to tilt his head down.

"Yes, Shawn," said Juliet slowly, his bewildered expression only instilling more fear in her. "You're bleeding."

Shawn examined his side curiously, his hand slowly feeling the damp material. His eyes widened in surprise. Shawn winced as his hand brushed the wound, and he looked at Juliet, his confusion deepening. "I…" He trailed off.

Juliet's face deepened in concern. "Do you remember..?"

It took an agonizingly long moment for Shawn's features to relax, as if he'd been trying to decide what she could have possibly meant by her question. His eyes drifted shut and he finally said, "Uh… oh. A-accid'nt, I—I think…"

Car accident. Juliet looked back down at the blood darkening the front of his shirt. Flashing back to the crime scene, Juliet recalled all the blood staining the cloth seats, and the EMT proclaiming it couldn't possibly have been from the driver alone.

That blood had been Shawn's.

She took an unsteady breath, eyeing his side. "Shawn, I need to see…" she trailed off, resisting the urge to finish with,  _how bad it is_. She cleared her throat.

Somehow, Shawn seemed to understand what she meant by that, giving Juliet a sliver of hope that he might be somewhat aware of reality. He shut his eyes tight, and Juliet gently lifted the shirt from his skin, pulling it away from his waist. Shawn hissed as she did, the sound alone sending ice through her veins. She examined the wound. Her stomach churned; his shirt had been hiding most of the blood. Dark red stained his side, and streamed across his waist, looking like black ink in the dim lighting. Something sharp must have struck Shawn in the car crash. A short but deep line had drawn across his side, the skin an array of black and blue.

"What're… you…?" asked Shawn quietly, lifting his head slightly off the ground, trying to fix his gaze on her. He already seemed to forget he'd be injured, because he suddenly tried to sit up. He let loose a low cry as he moved, and Juliet's hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pushing him back down.

"Shawn," she said, barely keeping her voice even. "Stay still!" She watched him take a shuddering breath, and his hand was clawing at the ground. She rubbed his shoulder instinctively, trying to comfort him, but he didn't even seem to notice she was there.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, knowing he was far from okay but not knowing what else to say.

His jaw was clenched tight as he rode the wave of pain. Shawn took a sharp breath. Juliet's chest tightened. This wasn't Shawn. Shawn had a response to everything. Everything. She'd never seen him in a state like this. Even when he'd been shot and kidnapped by Garth Longmore, he'd still managed to hold onto a sense of humor, arguing with Gus about his distaste of resembling Paul Walker. He'd grinned. He had even laughed.

But not this time.

Juliet didn't think he heard her question. There was also the fact that he was just in far too much pain to try to reply.

But Juliet didn't want to think about that theory.

Shawn must have heard her after all, because his body seemed to relax slightly and he whispered, "F-fantastic."

_There's the sarcasm_ , thought Juliet. "You're going to be fine," she said, tearing her eyes away from the grotesqueness of his wound and pulling his shirt back down. It was no longer bleeding, so she could satisfy herself with that. Juliet absently wiped her fingers on her pants, accidentally smearing his blood on her pants, but she didn't care. She glanced behind her, hoping to see where she could find a way back to the apartment building. But everything looked identical around her. Trees. Branches. Dirt.

Juliet looked around, and called, " _Carlton_!" She waited, listening intently, but she didn't get a reply. The leaves shifted quietly in the shallow breeze. She was surrounded by silence. Juliet sighed and tried again, louder, " _Carlton! I found him_!"

Still nothing.

Juliet cursed her voice for its lack of volume and pulled out her phone, but she had no service. She sighed and dropped it back in her pocket, her heart beating a quick, steady rhythm in her chest.

The last thing Juliet wanted to do was make Shawn walk through the forest. She didn't even think she could get him to  _sit up_. But it was getting darker. And colder, she noticed, suddenly shivering. Shawn was hurt and fading fast. She needed to get him out of here.

Juliet turned back to Shawn who'd shut his eyes again. His head had fallen back toward his shoulder. Juliet's heart spiked.

"No, no, no, Shawn," she said quickly, resisting the urge to shake him. "Stay with me!"

Shawn snapped his eyes open at her order. He tilted his head back toward her, his eyes seeming slightly clearer than they had been when he'd woken the first time, but still much too unfocused. His pupils were far more dilated than they should be. He looked at her skeptically, as if seeing her for the first time. "J-Jules?"

"Shawn," she said apprehensively, worry paralyzingly her.  _Did he already forget waking up_?

"W-where…?" he trailed off, his eyes weakly searching his surroundings.

"We're in a forest, Shawn," she explained, upgrading her personal diagnosis of his concussion from moderate to severe. "Shawn, look at me," she asked quietly, and she waited for his eyes to find her. His mind seemed frighteningly two or three steps behind. With his eyes on her, Juliet asked, "How many of me do you see?"

Shawn's face screwed up in confusion. "When… when'd you get here?" he whispered.

Her heart picked up speed, pounding in her head. It was as if he hadn't even heard what she asked. "Shawn," she said slowly, her hand back on his face, and she repeated, "just… just tell me how many of me you see."

Shawn fought to keep his gaze on her, and slowly said, "I… dunno… 's… bl'rry…" he said, taking a shallow breath. He looked at her again. "When… d'you… get here?"

Juliet hesitated. His lapse in memory terrified her. And with impaired vision, it would be even harder to get Shawn out of the forest on her own. "I don't know, Shawn," she said, answering his question. "Just… just a few minutes ago." She looked around again, as if Lassiter would miraculously emerge from the trees.

"'m sorry," he said quietly, his eyes drifting shut again.

"No," said Juliet suddenly, and his eyes slowly opened. "Shawn, you can't fall asleep." She had to keep him talking. "What are you sorry about?"

He mumbled something so quietly that it took Juliet a moment to make out what he said.

_Lying_.

Juliet sighed. With Shawn in danger, she'd pushed everything that happened between them as far away as possible. She couldn't think about it.

Not now.

"Shawn, it's—" she said, ready to say  _it's okay_ , but quickly stopped herself. She hadn't exactly forgiven him for what happened. She hadn't exactly…  _processed_  it yet. Juliet shook her head and finished, "—it's not important right now. We need to get you out of here."

"'m really… tired," he slurred, his eyes falling shut again.

"Stay with me," she repeated quickly, her hand back on his cheek, cupping his face. His eyes opened again at her touch. Juliet scanned the forest. The light was continuing to fade. She needed to get him out of here. "We need to go."

"M'side hurts…" he said suddenly, as if he'd just thought of it. Something painful struck Juliet inside as she watched Shawn's hand slowly rest protectively by the wound in his side. He shifted his weight, cringing as he woke the pain.

"Shawn," she said gently, putting a hand over his. She looked around. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

It seemed to take a lot of convincing to get himself to open his eyes. She hadn't even noticed he'd shut them again. Juliet watched him slowly turn his head, his eyes sluggishly scanning the area. He swallowed, then said, "Might." He turned his head back toward her. "W-was a boy scout," he whispered, "for a few—few days."

A ghost of a smile crossed Juliet's face. "Only a few days?" she asked, glad to see that he was somewhat lucid.

"Got…kick'd out," he said, almost remorsefully. "Acc'dent'ly… set G-Gus' tent.. on fire."

Despite herself, Juliet's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

Shawn gave a small, half-shrug. "Gus—Gus said he… was cold."

Juliet shook her head, both in incredulity and relief. He was already sounding more like himself, minus the slurring. She felt a sudden tremor run through Shawn's body, and realized he must be getting cold, too. She took a breath. "I'm going to help you up, okay?"

Juliet slipped an arm under Shawn's shoulders, slowly beginning to lift him up. He didn't try to stop her, but she watched his face tighten and felt his body tense. With her arm around his shoulders, she led him to lean back against the trunk of the tree beside them. Shawn breathed hard, keeping his eyes firmly shut. His hand was pressing firmly against his side, seeming to have just barely held in a cry of pain. "M'head's… killing me," he whispered, out of breath.

"I know, Shawn," said Juliet quietly, keeping a hold on his arm, feeling him starting to lean to the side. "Are you dizzy?"

It took Shawn a moment to answer. "Yes."

"How bad did you hit your head?" she asked, her eyes following the bruising on his face again.

Shawn kept his eyes screwed shut when he replied. "Which… time…?" he asked. He suddenly began to fall to the side, but Juliet caught him before he did. She helped him sit back up. He looked at her, suddenly puzzled. "Where's… L'ssie?"

"Carlton's somewhere around here," said Juliet. "He just apprehended the men who took you. Both of them are in custody," she said. Well, the first man was technically in custody, even if he was dead.

Shawn's eyes flashed. "Both?" he asked, his voice suddenly clear. Sharp.

Juliet hesitated. "Yeah, the two men who kidnapped you," she said slowly. "We've got them—"

"Th-there's three… Jules," he said in a low voice. "There's—"

"Three."

Both Shawn and Juliet jumped at the voice behind them. Her heart jumped into her throat as she watched a man emerge from the trees beside them.

And it wasn't Lassiter.


	11. Chapter 11

It didn't feel real.

Not when the deep voice shattered the silence. Nor when the man who'd kidnapped him stepped out from between the trees. Not even when a gun was suddenly aimed at his head. It didn't feel real at all.

It felt like a nightmare.

Shawn was frozen. He vaguely saw Juliet whip around, and shift herself in front of him.  _Protecting_ him. The surge of feeling he would have felt at her gesture was quickly lost in his fear. Adrenaline kicked into his veins, clearing some of the ringing from his hearing, but his vision was far too blurry. He was still seeing double. He blinked, trying to get the two imposing men with guns to remain single.

"If either of you move even an inch," said the man, and Shawn shook himself, pulling himself back to attention. It had been incredibly hard to focus ever since he'd regained consciousness. "And I mean an  _inch_ ," hissed the man, taking another step forward. "I will put a hole between your eyes."

Shawn felt Juliet's back pressing into him, staying as close to him as possible. Shawn shut his eyes as a new wave of pain from his side treaded in his veins. It was as if the pain had just decided to wake up when Juliet roused him. It definitely hadn't hurt this much when Shawn had been in the van or the apartment building.

"Am I boring you, Shawn?"

Shawn's eyes snapped open. The gun had shifted from aiming in the general direction of himself and Juliet to his forehead. Well, Shawn assumed it was aimed at his forehead. He was currently seeing two guns aimed at him, his vision still messed up. The man was suddenly closer, maybe two feet away from them, an ugly frown twisting his face. "I wouldn't want to bore you, Shawn. Which is why things are going to get much, much more interesting." His frown morphed into a sick grin. "I had no idea you were dating a cop."

Shawn shifted toward her involuntarily, but quicker than his mind could comprehend, the gun was back on him and the man was suddenly closer. "What did I say about moving, Shawn?"

Shawn set his jaw, halting his motion. He held himself back, feeling a head rush, but he resisted the urge to shut his eyes. He fought to keep himself upright and watched the world spin.

"What do you want?" demanded Juliet, her voice even. Fearless.

"I want my money," the man said, as if it were obvious. He tilted the gun in his hand, shifting his weight, crushing leaves underneath his boots, the sound chilling the silence. "And something tells me that the cops will be much more motivated to keep their detective alive than their consultant." He laughed. "You know what that means, don't you?"

Fear burned in Shawn's veins. Juliet leaned her weight further back into Shawn. She'd already been close enough that her back had been brushing his chest. Shawn fought the urge to cringe as she pressed sharply into the raw wound in his side. What was she…?

Shawn's heart sped. His delayed mind suddenly caught up to the rest of him. It wasn't Juliet's back that was pressing into his side.

It was her gun.

Her gun was in the waistband of the back of her pants, now mere inches from Shawn's hand. Shawn slowly nudged the small of her back to acknowledge that he understood what she meant.

He was going to have to grab the gun and shoot this man.

Shawn felt the back of her shirt, deciding that relying on his screwed up vision wasn't going to do him any good. His fingers brushed her back. Juliet's muscles were tense. Rigid.

Shawn's hand met the cool metal of the gun, and he slowly started to pull it from her waistband.

"Now," the man said sharply, and Shawn let go of the gun, terrified the man had seen him. But… the man didn't seem to have noticed. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to tell you how this will work. I am going to walk your girlfriend out of this damned forest and put this gun to her head in front of your little police friends. And then I will get my money." He laughed to himself. "I'll shoot her when I get it, of course, but they don't know that.

"You—" Shawn felt another wave of vertigo hit him, cutting off his response, and he clawed at the ground, trying to force himself to stay put. The bark on the tree bit into his skin as he pressed himself against it. He fought his swaying, forcing away the pull of unconsciousness. He couldn't pass out now. He just couldn't.

"You see, Shawn," the man said, "I don't  _have_  to kill her. But you made things difficult for me. And for that, you need to be punished."

"You—you touch her, I—I'll kill you," said Shawn, his voice breathy, as if he'd just had the wind knocked out of him and hadn't quite recovered. The man only laughed in response. Shawn's fingers found Juliet's gun again. He slowly pulled it free from her waistband. The weapon felt heavy in his weakened state. Shawn's hand shook and he hesitated. He could barely  _sit up_  without lilting to the side, much less hold his focus on anything for too long. How did Juliet expect him to shoot this man with any accuracy?

"—you."

Shawn lifted his eyes back to the man. His head felt fuzzy and an intense pressure was beating behind his eyes. The man had said something to Juliet but Shawn didn't quite hear it. The ringing in his ears was back. He vaguely saw the man take a step toward Juliet and grab her by the arm, pulling her roughly away from Shawn.

Heart jumping into a frenzy, Shawn lifted the weapon in his hand. But before he could even wrap his finger around the trigger, he felt something strong hit him across the face, sending him straight back to the ground, his face hitting the dirt. The gun was ripped out of his hand. The man suddenly lashed out with his foot, and Shawn felt agony explode in his side. It took him far too long to realize his hearing had been torn down to mere ringing and fresh blood was dripping down his skin from the wound in his side.

And Juliet and the man were gone.

* * *

"What do you mean there's a third kidnapper?!" exclaimed Henry. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Lassiter shoved the man he'd shot to the ground, making him groan in pain. "Now," hissed Lassiter through his teeth, pressing his weight into the man, pushing him further into the dirt. "You're going to tell me about your other partner. Where is he? Who is he?"

The man let out a low cackle of laughter, and Lassiter increased his hold on the man, turning the chuckle into a groan of pain. In a strained voice, the man said, "I don't… even know the guy."

"Bull," growled Lassiter, pressing his knee into the man's back. He felt the man shutter beneath him, blood streaming from his wound. "Tell me what you know," demanded Lassiter, "and maybe I'll make prison less painful for you."

"We're—we're ex-military, man," gasped the man. "Just—just trying to make some extra cash. That's—"

Henry cut him off, his voice dripping with dark fury. "And you think  _money_  is a reason to murder a cab driver and kidnap my son, you son of a—" Henry lunged forward toward the man but Gus jumped forward, throwing his arms around him, holding him back.

"L-look, it was his idea!" the man groaned. "T-trent and I n-never… never even k-knew the guy's name, man!" Lassiter shoved him down again, a strangled groan escaping the man's clenched teeth.

" _Where is he_?" demanded Lassiter.

"W-we… split up," the man choked out, underneath Lassiter's pressure. "L-lookin' for that… kid—"

"That kid is my  _son_ , damn it!" raged Henry, fighting against Gus' hold on him. "You—"

_"Weapons down!"_

_"Stand down! Everyone, stand down!"_

Lassiter, Henry and Gus froze. Shouts were coming from officers not too far away.

"Shawn!" whispered Henry, hope searing through him. "That could be Shawn!"

He took off at a run, hearing Gus following near behind him, and Lassiter's hissed orders at the kidnapper to get up.

Henry strained his ears, thankful that he'd trained himself in observation using all five senses. The voices were coming from the southwest, and Henry had no trouble pinpointing where the parking lot was. He heard Gus' panting behind him, but Henry didn't slow down to let the younger man keep up.

His son was found. Shawn was safe.

Henry ignored the twigs whipping into his face, feeling the sting as the branches cut into his skin. The light continued getting brighter as he raced through the trees, out of the dense woodland. He heard the voices louder, repeating the same two phrases he'd heard them first say.

But why didn't this feel right?

The parking lot came into view, and Henry squinted through the branches, seeing the navy and black of the officer uniforms. He saw officers lowering their weapons, some behind patrol cars, but all heads pointed in the same direction. Henry burst through the trees, and a few heads snap toward him. Including Chief Vick's.

"Karen," huffed Henry, out of breath, as he ran to the chief. He looked wildly around, "Did they find—"

His gaze landed about thirty feet away. And it wasn't Shawn. A man had a vice-grip around Juliet's neck, and a gun pressed firmly to her head. Her hands were gripping the arm around her, but muscles rippled underneath the material of the man's shirt. Juliet struggled. He wasn't giving her enough air.

"—the money," the man was saying, as Henry's hearing broke through his shock. "Give it to me, or the detective dies." the man growled through his teeth. He glared at the Vick. "My patience is running thin." The gun pressed harder against Juliet's temple, and she gasped, making almost every officer flinch.

Henry looked at Vick. Vick made a gesture at the officer to her right, and he slowly stood up, leaving his weapon on the ground. Henry watched Juliet's captor's eyes follow the man, ensuring that the officer wasn't going to make a move. The officer opened the door of a patrol car, and pulled out the bag of money Lassiter and Juliet had confiscated from the taxi station.

Henry knew the drill with exchanges. It all came down to trust. If it came to handing over the actual ransom, the police usually had a backup plan to ensure that thee perpetrator wasn't getting away with it.

But this wasn't planned.

"Slowly, Dobson," said Vick in a low voice, as Dobson took measured steps toward the man. She shifted her gaze to the man and said, "The bag for my detective."

The man nodded stiffly, his eyes giving away nothing. "That's the deal."

The man's knuckles were white on his intense grip on the gun, pressed firmly against Juliet.

"Oh, God—O'hara."

Henry and Vick turned. Gus and Lassiter were suddenly behind them, watching. Lassiter stared at his struggling partner, his hands tightly securing the other kidnapper, knocked out cold in his arms. Lassiter's face was ashen.

"Where's Shawn?" asked Henry, suddenly overwhelmed. Juliet was here. The third kidnapper was here.

Where the hell was his son?

Dobson stopped ten feet away from the man and Juliet.

Henry couldn't contain himself.

"Where's Shawn?" he demanded, eyes burning into the man. "Where the hell is my son?"

The man shifted his eyes from the bag to Henry. Henry ignored the hisses he got from the three standing beside him. The man adjusted his grip on Juliet, holding her tighter, and she shut her eyes. He grinned at Henry.

"Your son," the man said, low and even, "is dead."

* * *

_This must be what dying feels like._

Shawn felt paralyzed. The sheer agony piercing into his skull and emanating from the wound in his side singed through his veins, as if his very blood was on fire. His eyes were screwed shut.

He had to get up. He  _knew_  he had to. Juliet was in danger. The man was a killer. He was going to shoot her whether he got the money or not.

He had to get up.

Shawn didn't know how long it took to get feeling back into his limbs. The pain whited out every fiber of his being. He was lying on the ground, his cheek pressed against the dirt. Well, more like mud, considering the thunderstorm from the morning.

To think he'd been sitting in the Psych office watching the rain hitting the window less than ten hours ago.

Shawn shook himself. He needed to focus. He needed to get off the ground.

But that was the last thing his body wanted to do.

 _No_ , Shawn told himself firmly,  _it's not what you_ want _to do—it's what you_ need _to do._ Shawn took a breath, hissing in pain as the simple breath shifted his rib cage.  _That must be why it hurts so much,_ realized Shawn.  _Broken ribs._  Shawn gave himself a moment to let the pain subside, but with a sinking feeling, Shawn realized that the pain wasn't going to subside. It burned steadily.

He needed to get to Juliet. Shawn let the rush of his desperation force him to lift his hand, and plant it firmly on the ground in front of him. His fingers sank into the damp dirt. Shawn cracked his eyes open, facing the faded sunlight casting lazy rays through the branches.

There.

Shawn slowly tilted his head, trying to focus his eyes on what he saw. There were imprints in the dirt, not far from him. They led away from him. Imprints. What were they?

 _Footprints_. The thought flashed through Shawn's backwards thinking and he shut his eyes at his own slowness. He couldn't even recognize  _footprints_  at first glance. His head was thoroughly messed up.

Shawn realized his arm had fallen back to his side. His fingers were covered in mud. Without readying himself for it, Shawn lifted his arm again, shifting his weight onto it and pushed himself up. He screamed through his teeth as his ribs seared in pain, as if he'd just been stabbed half a dozen times. Shawn breathed hard, finding himself leaning on his forearm, his body shaking with merely trying to hold himself three inches off the ground. Shawn pressed his other hand into the dirt, pushing himself up further, his breath now coming in short gasps. He quickly got his knees underneath him, ignoring his ribs' protest.

Shawn lifted his head, his vision still spinning, but he was no longer seeing double. Things were moving slightly and had a fuzzy blur to their edges. But he could still make out the footprints beside him. If he followed them, he could find the man and Juliet.

Shawn hesitated, his body trembling with his own weight. Crawling out of the forest would be agonizing. Moving his knees underneath him would jostle his abdomen far more than walking would.

He was going to have to stand.

Shawn let out an exasperated breath, cringing as he straightened his arms, pushing himself up higher off the ground, getting his feet under him. His weight seemed to double, protesting his movement. It was as if his body was going… how did Gus always describe it?  _Boneless,_ thought Shawn. His own body was threatening to go boneless on him. Shawn clenched his teeth as he fought it, pushing himself up, hearing Gus' voice in his head repeating,  _Don't go boneless on me, Shawn!_

The bark in the tree beside him bit into his shoulder, telling him he was at least a foot or two higher off the ground. Shawn shifted away from it—

 _No, that was it_. Shawn looked sluggishly back toward the tree, an idea forming. He could use the tree to keep his balance as he forced himself to his feet. Shawn took a breath, and pushed off the ground, letting himself fall back against the tree. His back hit the trunk, and Shawn bit his tongue hard at the impact. The metallic taste of his blood filled his mouth, and Shawn coughed, his blood staining the grass and his jeans.  _Brand new jeans,_ thought Shawn irritably, as if it were the small drops of blood that suddenly ruined the clothing and not the grass and mud stains already caking the fabric.

Shawn sank back against the tree, glad to have his feet already underneath him. That was half the battle at this point. He gave himself a moment to breathe, his chest rising up and down abnormally fast. Shawn cast a glance down at himself, taking in the mess of his shirt. It was torn. Almost shredded, it looked like, as if he'd stuffed the material in a sink disposal.  _I wore this shirt last week with Jules,_ Shawn remembered, the useless thought coming to the front of his mind for some absurd reason. Juliet had commented on the shirt last week, mentioning that she liked it on him. And now it was ruined.

Shawn shook himself, stopping his train of thought, and his eyes suddenly followed the blood. It spread across his abdomen, and fear flitted in his chest. That was a  _lot_  of blood. Shawn put a shaking hand to his side, trying to stem the flow. The moment his fingers touched his side, Shawn yelped in pain. He tore his hand away, and pressed his back hard against the tree, waiting for the pain to subside.  _Oh, right,_ thought Shawn bitterly,  _it doesn't subside._

 _You're wasting time,_ said a firm voice in the back of Shawn's mind, and a grim realization crept into his thoughts. There was no use trying to do this gently. Trying to stand was going to hurt like hell whether he took it fast or slow. Shawn grasped a low branch on the tree, and he yanked himself up.

Shawn didn't know how to describe the sound that escaped him as pain ripped through his abdomen. Heart thudding painfully against his chest, Shawn held onto the branch for dear life, forcing himself up to his full height. He pressed his back firmly against the tree, shimmying himself up the trunk, the bark scraping the skin on his back. Shawn breathed hard and fast, pain following his every movement.

The mixture of agony and motion was enough to send his vertigo into overdrive, and Shawn held an iron-clad grip on the branch, terrified of falling back down. It seemed to take years for the world to slow its spinning, and Shawn cautiously opened his eyes. He found himself standing, pressing firmly against the tree. He'd done it. He was standing.

Too bad that was only the first step in getting to Juliet.

Shawn shoved his doubt away. He could do it. He'd gotten this far. Cracking his eyes open, facing the ground, Shawn tried to find the footprints again. Somewhere during his struggle to his feet, Shawn's headache snuck up on him, and it now pounded viciously behind his eyes.

"Come  _on_ ," muttered Shawn, annoyed with the pain. He held tight to the branch he was clinging to and slowly reached his other hand to the next branch. Successfully grabbing a hold of it, he paused, steadying himself. His eyes roamed the fuzzy ground, and he dimly found the footprints again, and Shawn followed them with his eyes, as they led behind him, through the forest.

Shawn took a hesitant step forward, shifting his weight carefully to his left foot, feeling his almost drunk-like coordination tilt his balance. He held onto the branch tighter, righting himself. Surprisingly, the movement wasn't enough to cause him much pain. That, or his side had gone numb—and Shawn wished it was the latter.

Reaching for a branch on a tree adjacent to the one he was leaning on and took another step to his right foot, following the footprints. At least that was something; getting up had been the hard part.

Now he just had to focus on keeping upright, or he'd have to do it all over again.

Shawn's next step wasn't as calculated as his first, and he tilted forward, hitting the trunk of the tree face-first. Shawn threw his arms around the trunk of the tree, catching himself from falling. His side singed with pain.  _There goes the numb theory,_ he thought bitterly. He steadied himself, taking a few shallow breaths, and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

Shawn looked ahead, finding the footprint trail again.  _Hurry._ Adrenaline swam in his veins, but Shawn kept his pace slow—even slower than before—as he followed the trail. He took more steps forward, keeping his hold shifting from tree to tree. His movements fell into a painfully slow and slightly off-balance rhythm. It wasn't fast, but it was progress. The pain had mellowed out to a constant burn, but it had stopped stinging. That was something, at least. Shawn blinked away his fatigue. His exhaustion crept up on him, feeling like a thick vapor in the very air he breathed. The extra blood loss from Shawn's wound was definitely taking its toll, but Shawn fought it. The adrenaline was still within him, driving him forward. He wasn't putting himself through this agony just for the hell of it. Juliet needed him, and there was nothing in the world that could stop him from protecting her.

Nothing.

" _Weapons down!"_

_"Stand down! Everybody, stand down!"_

Shawn nearly lost his footing as the yells pierced the silence, competing with the deafening ringing in his ears. He grasped the branch he was holding on to, and strained his ears. Those yells were close.

Very close.

Shawn picked up his pace, eyes shifting from the footprints to what was ahead of him quickly, angering his headache, but he didn't care. Juliet and the man must be nearby.

The light was suddenly getting brighter, and Shawn looked up as he saw the parking lot looming ahead through the branches, maybe forty feet away. Shawn picked up his pace more, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hearing the man's deep voice speaking somewhere in front of him. Shawn's vision was twisting everything in sight, and Shawn blinked rapidly, trying to clear it as best as he could. Pain radiated from his abdomen, his heart thudding excruciatingly against his injured ribs. He was ten feet away from the parking lot now.

He was almost there.

* * *

"Your son," the man told Henry, "is dead."

A thick silence settled over the parking lot. No one spoke. No one moved.

Henry couldn't breathe.

_Your son is dead._

He learned a lot as a detective. He learned how to control his emotions, keep them in check during sting operations, to lie undetected to get information out of criminals, to deal with shock.

But shock had never felt like this.

"I'm waiting."

Heads turned back toward the man. Vick recovered first, her face white. Dobson had frozen as well. "D-Dobson. Give it to him."

Henry felt himself shaking. Karen Vick had just stuttered.

Karen Vick  _never_  stuttered.

In silence, every officer watched as Dobson took three more steps toward the man. Then man watched him carefully, then said, "Stop."

Dobson stopped a few feet away. The man nudged Juliet with the gun, then he turned to Dobson. "Drop the bag and walk away."

Dobson complied. He put the bag on the ground and retreated back where the other officers stood. Henry watched everything as if from someone else's eyes.

Shawn was dead.

 _Dead_.

"I'm going to release her," said the man to the officers. "I'm going to release your detective, pick up my money, and walk away. If you take a shot at me, I'll shoot her." He shifted his gaze between the officers, tightening his grip on the gun, eyeing the officers. "I promise I'm faster."

"He's—He's ex-military," said Lassiter in a quiet voice to Vick. "Don't shoot." His face was blank.

Emotionless.

Dobson retreated and stood next to Vick. Everyone watched as the man slowly released his tight hold on Juliet. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The man kept his gun trained on her as he picked up the bag of money and started backing up. He continued walking backward, his gun glued to Juliet's back. She coughed hard, and seemed to be trying to tell them all something. Henry took a step toward her.

"He's—He's—" she gasped, coughing again, rubbing where the man had held her around the throat. "Sh-Shawn's—not—" Juliet coughed again, out of breath.

The man took more steps backward, tightening his grip on the weapon, picking up his pace a bit, a hint of a grin slicing across his face.

"Chief," said Lassiter suddenly, staring at the man. "He's going to shoot her. He—He's going to shoot!"

* * *

"He—He's going to shoot!"

Pure fear wiped the haze from Shawn's mind as Lassiter's yell pierced the air. Shawn stumbled forward the last ten feet, catching himself on another tree, and squinted through the branches. He'd reached the parking lot. Heart tripling in speed, Shawn's eyes found Juliet. She'd fallen to her knees on the pavement. And there, backing away from her, was Shawn's kidnapper. With a gun.

His finger poised on the trigger.

Shawn felt something strong take him over, and suddenly all the pain was forgotten. The dizziness was thrown aside. His fear was reduced to raw desperation. He was suddenly running out through the trees, straight for Juliet. Shawn watched as she turned her head toward him and her eyes widened in fear. He threw himself forward toward her, straight into the line of fire.

Just as the man pulled the trigger.


	12. Chapter 12

Gus sighed, twisting his hands around each other. He hadn't washed them yet. Dried blood coated his skin, staining his palms a deep red. His shirt was colored with gruesome stains, ruining the lavender dress shirt. The knees on his khaki pants matched his shirt and hands, and for the first time in his life, Gus could care less about the state of his clothes. He briefly wondered why it was all over his shins, too, but well, that's what happens when you kneel in a pool of blood. Gus felt his heart stutter at the memory. A pool of blood.

Shawn's blood.

Gus sat on the plastic chair in the waiting room of the hospital, his body screaming at him to lean back. His muscles were sore from leaning his arms on his knees. But Gus didn't move. He just stared at his hands, running through everything that had happened, trying to find something he could have done. Something he could have possibly tried to do to stop all of this from happening.

Gus had chosen a chair against the back wall of the waiting room. He was the only person in this row of chairs. He didn't want to be around anyone else.

He couldn't.

He could still feel the dried tears on his cheeks. After a while, he got tired of wiping them away. He knew for certain if Shawn had been there, Gus would have gotten an earful for letting them fall. And he would have welcomed that earful, if only to just hear his friend's voice.

But Shawn wasn't here.

Shawn had been in surgery for two hours and thirty-seven minutes. Almost thirty-eight, Gus realized, tilting his wrist to check the time again. He couldn't fathom how slowly time seemed to move and yet how incredibly fast his heart was beating. It just wouldn't slow down.

Gus shivered. The hospital was air-conditioned and the blood was still damp on his clothes. How it could possibly still be damp after two hours and thirty-eight minutes, Gus didn't know.

He also didn't care.

Everything around him was a dull blur. He'd tuned everyone out by this point, unable to deal with Henry interrogating the detectives about everything they should have done at the scene. Henry's coping method was the last thing Gus needed right now. It was the last thing anyone needed.

Gus sighed again, rubbing his eyes. He was doing it again. He was thinking about it. All of it.

Everything that happened the moment that bullet left the gun.

_It happened quickly. So fast, in fact, that Gus almost missed it. He'd been so lost in his head, so many disjointed thoughts rushing through his mind as he tried to process the four words he had just heard that felt like a knife in his chest._

_Your son is dead._

_A loud ringing echoed in Gus' ears. Shawn wasn't dead. He couldn't be. He just couldn't. Ice slid down Gus' spine. Suddenly, perhaps the most absurd thought running through Gus' head jumped to the front of his mind._

_Del Taco. Shawn had just filled out his punch card for Del Taco; he and Gus were going to celebrate. It was a big deal for Shawn—it was the first time he'd filled out a punch card without losing it. But with the whole Juliet fiasco, Gus had completely forgotten. And for some ridiculous reason, his mind thought that this was an appropriate time to remember. But…_

_Shawn wasn't going to get that free lunch. He would never get lunch again._

_Because he was dead._

_Those words were spinning around in Gus' head so quickly that he almost missed it, and would have if Henry hadn't said anything._

_"Shawn!" breathed Henry, and Gus' head whipped up, catching the glimpse of a blur shooting out of the forest. It was Shawn. A ragged, uncoordinated and dirty Shawn, but Shawn nonetheless._

_Gus felt the intense pain in his chest subside and the ice thaw in his veins. He heaved out a breath, watching his friend tear out of the branches and run across the pavement—_

_Straight into the line of fire._

_Shawn reached Juliet just in time, and he threw himself toward her, causing both of them to crash to the ground as the gunshot went off._

_But not before the bullet found a target._

_Shawn and Juliet hit the ground hard, skidding across the pavement. They were separated by a few feet of space._

_Gus was running in an instant, his friend's name bursting from his lips. The silence of the night was shattered, chaos erupting around him but Gus didn't stop. He was running as fast as his feet would take him, straight for his best friend's broken form. Gus' heart jumped into his throat. Shawn was lying on his back._

_Motionless._

_Gus nearly dry-heaved at the sight of the gore on his friend's face. Gus dropped to his knees at Shawn's side, pain ricocheting in Gus' legs but he ignored it. Shawn's head was tilted toward Gus, and a deep gash on his forehead rested underneath his hairline. Blood coated the skin on his face and matted his hair. Shawn's eyes were shut. Black and blue shadowed underneath the blood and mud coating his skin. A shiver shot down Gus' spine at the paleness of Shawn's face._

_And the stillness of his body._

_Gus' heart froze. Shawn's once-blue shirt was now almost completely red. Through the rips in the material, he could see the blackening wound on his side, trickling blood down his bruised skin. But it was the hole in Shawn's chest that Gus was staring at, wide-eyed. The blood spread fast through the ripped cloth and Gus' hand hovered above Shawn. He was in complete and utter shock._

_Gus placed a shaking hand on Shawn's shoulder, to try to rouse him, but suddenly Gus felt something under his knees. A pool of blood streamed down Shawn's torso and onto the pavement, spreading beneath Gus' knees like black water._

_"Oh, my god, Shawn..." whispered Gus, watching the blood. "Oh, my god…"_

_"Shawn!"_

_Gus whipped around, suddenly realizing the chaos around him. Officers were running. Gunshots went off as they took down Shawn's kidnapper and Gus couldn't help angrily thinking that they were just a little damned late, now weren't they?_

_Henry was skidding to a stop next to Gus, and they both ducked as the bullets flew._

_"Holy shit, kid…" breathed Henry, falling to his knees, all the color draining from his face, taking in the sight of his wounded son. Henry placed a gentle hand on Shawn's cheek. "Shawn?"_

_Shawn didn't move._

" _Shawn," said Henry, stronger, worry wavering his voice. "Talk to me, son!"_

_Nothing._

_Henry's gaze dropped to Shawn's chest, and without hesitation he suddenly ripped open Shawn's shirt. For the second time that day, Gus was grateful he hadn't eaten anything in over ten hours. Shawn's torso was almost completely covered in blood. A blackening wound down by his waist had stained his skin with dark, dried blood, but he must have reopened the wound. Fresh blood trickled down his side. But that was nothing compared to the fresh gunshot wound somewhere in his chest, bleeding a river of blood down onto the pavement._

" _Holy—"_

_Gus turned. Lassiter was kneeling at Juliet's side, his hand on her back as she desperately tried to catch her breath. Lassiter stared at Shawn, his face white. "Henry," he asked. "Is he…?"_

_Gus watched as Henry fumbled to get his fingers to Shawn's neck. Shawn didn't react to the touch. His head lulled ever so slightly to the side. Gus felt Shawn's blood seep through the material of his pants. It was warm. Terrified, Gus put one hand on top of another and pressed down on Shawn's chest, over the bleeding wound, trying to stem the flow. Blood streamed through his fingers._

_"Henry, ambulance is here," came Vick's urgent, panicked voice behind Gus. Gus didn't even attempt to turn around to look at her. Because Henry's shaking fingers were still against Shawn's neck._

_And tears were brimming in Henry's eyes._

_"I—I can't feel it, Karen," whispered Henry, a tear dripping down his face, falling into Shawn's shirt. Henry frantically shifted the placement of his fingers against Shawn's neck, hysteria creeping into his voice. "I can't feel anything!"_

_Shawn was still. Gus didn't remove his hands from the wound, feeling the blood flow between his fingers, like the life trickling out of his best friend. "Shawn… please, man—" he begged, but Gus felt a firm grip on his shoulder tug him away from Shawn._

_"Please, clear the area."_

_After a second tug from the EMT, Gus let go of Shawn, and backed slowly away, watching as the three EMTs gathered around his best friend, trading medical phrases in hushed urgency, pulling a stretcher beside him—_

The sound of a door swinging open snapped Gus out of the memory. He'd become accustomed to that sound, hearing it every twenty minutes or so. It was a doctor. He was a different doctor than the nurses who'd come out before. He looked around the room, holding a clipboard. Gus sat up. This was it.

Shawn.

The doctor looked down at the clipboard and Gus heard him ask for family and friends of a name he didn't recognize.

Gus' head dropped back down to his hands.  _Not Shawn._ He tried to tune out the doctor as he proceeded to give a middle aged woman good news about her fiancé. Good news. Gus would kill for good news. Hell, he would kill for  _any_  news at this point. Well… Gus reconsidered. Maybe not  _any_. Propping his chin up on his fists, Gus surveyed the waiting room again. Juliet, Lassiter and Henry were maybe ten feet away from him. Juliet and Lassiter leaned back in their chairs, as if just like Gus, they'd both straightened as the doctor walked through the door. Henry was pacing next to them, not having taken a seat since he got out of the ambulance. He'd stopped mid-pace as the doctor came through the door, but now started up again. Henry had blood stained on his own clothes—one of his typical Hawaiian shirts. It was a shirt Gus was sure Shawn would disapprove of, and would probably be quite satisfied had been ruined.

"Hey."

Gus looked up as Juliet took a seat beside him. She clasped her hands together on her own knees. Her clothes were stained with mud and scattered dark blood stains. Gus couldn't help noticing the bruising around Juliet's throat and the fresh cut on her forehead. A white bandage had been placed over it by one of the EMTs after Shawn had been taken to the hospital.

"I don't think I asked," said Gus, eyeing the bruises. "But are you okay?"

Juliet gave him half a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… scared." Her voice was still slightly raspy.

Gus nodded, his gaze drifting back to the floor, his voice a deflated version of himself. "I hear that."

"He's going to pull through," said Juliet, wringing her hands together. "I mean, it's Shawn. He's too stubborn to let something like this beat him."

Gus was quiet for a moment. Something had been haunting him all day long. He shook his head and said, "I just don't get it."

Juliet tilted her head. "Don't get what?"

"I have a car." said Gus simply. "He has his Norton. If he needed a ride, why didn't he just ask?"

"Gus—" began Juliet, but Gus rubbed his eyes and cut her off, muttering, "This never would have happened.

"Gus, this isn't your fault," said Juliet firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder, turning him to look at her.

"You're right," said Gus sharply, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "It's yours."

Juliet's hand fell from his shoulder. Gus shut his eyes, kicking himself. He hadn't even been blaming her. It just came out.

Or had he been?

"Jules—" began Gus, but Juliet stood up without a word.

"Jules, please, I'm sorry, that came out wrong," said Gus quickly, standing up and grabbing her arm gently.

"No," said Juliet, eyes flashing, tugging her arm out of his grasp and putting her hands up in mock-surrender. " _I'm_ sorry. But, Gus, I told Shawn I needed  _space_ , I didn't tell him to get himself shot!"

"Don't go blaming this on Shawn, now," spat Gus, heatedly. "That bullet wasn't meant for  _him_ —"

"What's going on over here?" demanded Henry, walking up to the two of them.

Both Gus and Juliet answered in unison. "Nothing."

Henry raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms, and suddenly Gus felt fifteen years younger, standing under the glowering stare of Shawn's father after he and Shawn did something stupid. Well… after Shawn did something stupid and dragged Gus into it. "We're not blaming anyone." Said Henry firmly. "Shawn needs our support, he doesn't need us—"

"We're  _not_ blaming anyone?" asked Lassiter suddenly, standing up from his seat and approaching the group. "Oh, so your endless ranting about how our officers  _should_ react isn't blaming anyone?"

"That's different," said Henry through his teeth. "There were a dozen things your  _officers_ could have done. How about setting up a perimeter?"

Lassiter shut his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Excuse me?"

The four turned around. A young doctor was standing behind them, in the doorway to the surgical ward. He was holding a clipboard, and he looked down to read off of it.

"Family and friends of Shawn Spencer?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Family and friends of Shawn Spencer?"

Fear seared through Henry's veins. He'd been waiting to hear those words for what seemed like a lifetime. Henry nearly choked on his words. "Sh-Shawn?" Henry forced out, not even caring how desperate he sounded. "Is he okay?"

"Yes," said the doctor, without hesitation. "He's going to be just fine."

"Thank god," whispered Henry, feeling relief wash through him. The four of them sighed in unison, the tension from moments before dissipating instantly. The doctor's words echoed in Henry's head and he felt the feeling return to his body. Gus shut his eyes and mumbled a relieved laugh. Fresh tears ran down Juliet's face and she sank down to the hospital chair beside her, whispering, "Oh, thank god." Relief washed lines of stress from Lassiter's face and he placed a gentle hand on Juliet's shoulder.

"How is he?" asked Lassiter.

The young doctor continued, "Mr. Spencer was—"

"Shawn." said Henry quickly, knowing how much Shawn hated being called  _Mr. Spencer._ "His name's Shawn."

The doctor smiled kindly, and said, "—Shawn was very lucky. The bullet struck him in his right shoulder, rupturing his subclavian artery," he said, then seemed to realize none of them would know his doctor-talk and he amended, "an artery below his collarbone. It's not incredibly common for a gunshot wound to hit that specific artery, but it resulted in dramatic blood loss. He received medical assistance rather quickly," said the doctor quickly, watching worry creep back into Henry's eyes, "and was given a blood transfusion to restore the loss." Every word hit Henry hard. Ruptured artery. Blood transfusion. Henry felt tears threaten to return, but he fought them. He  _never_  cried, and now he was going to cry twice in one day?

The four were quiet as the doctor shifted his eyes back down to the clipboard. "He has no fractures or nerve damage, which is very good news. The injury to his side resulted in two broken ribs and seventeen stitches, but should heal in a matter of weeks." The young doctor, who's nametag read  _Dr. Daniel Bauer_ , Henry realized, adjusted his glasses as he flipped a page on the clipboard. "He has a severe concussion and lacerations on his head, but no skull fracture." He looked up to the silent, almost stricken group, and lowered the clipboard back to his side. "It's overwhelming to hear," he said solemnly, "but, given time, Mr. Spen—Shawn will be just fine."

"So…" said Juliet in a small voice. Another tear fell down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away. "Shawn's going to be fine?" she asked unnecessarily, as if she just needed to hear the man say it again.

Bauer smiled and nodded. "He'll be bruised and sore for a few weeks but he'll be good as new."

"Can we see him?" asked Henry. He needed to see Shawn—he needed to know for certain that his son was okay. He couldn't help flashing back to the hours before, with his shaking fingers on Shawn's neck, unable to find the pulse. It was the most terrifying moment he'd ever experienced.

"They're just finishing up his surgery," said Bauer. "He'll be taken to a room within the next half an hour. You can see him then. He'll be unconscious; the anesthetics should wear off in a matter of hours and he'll wake up when he's ready."

"How long can that take?" asked Gus, and Henry saw unshed tears in Gus' eyes. His son's best friend had a depressed appearance, giving Henry chills; Gus' clothes were wrinkled and stained, much like his own were. Gus' eyes held a tired darkness, making Henry wonder what he must look like right now.

Bauer shrugged at Gus' question. "It's different with every person. Shawn's body went through a lot of trauma. He could wake up in one day or six, it's all related to how his body heals." Bauer shifted the clipboard in his grip. He gave the four a kind smile. "I'll send a nurse out when Shawn's been moved."

Henry nodded absently. He sank down into the hospital chair behind him, his legs burning from his constant pacing over the past few hours. He hadn't even realized how badly his muscles were screaming. Or how tired he was. Henry dropped his head to his hands and tried to rub the exhaustion from his eyes.

The past eleven hours had been enough to match all the stress he'd been under during his years as a detective. Possibly even  _out_ match it. Henry felt the vice-grip loosen in his chest and he heaved another sigh of relief.

Henry felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up. Lassiter was looking at him with a kind of concern Henry had never before seen from the man. "He's okay," said Lassiter quietly, and Henry nodded.

Shawn was fine.

_His son was going to be okay._

* * *

_"Jules, c'mon, what are you waiting for?"_

_Juliet gave Shawn an uncertain glance. He'd stopped walking a few feet in front of her when he realized she was no longer following him. Feet refusing to move, Juliet looked around the shallow, wooded area around her. Shawn had driven her—she was still getting used to his Norton, trying to decide if the chills it gave her were from excitement or mortal fear—a half an hour from her apartment to somewhere on the outskirts of town. He'd pulled over to the side of the road and parked. This stretch of road was deserted. To one side of the road was a clear stretch of grass. To the other was a slightly wooded area, trees lining the road. The setting sun shone through the scattered branches. Shawn had headed straight into the hollow forest, but Juliet stopped short._

_Shawn cocked his head in confusion._

_Juliet pointed to the sign in front of her. "It says 'No Trespassing,' Shawn, I don't think we're supposed to be here." The old wooden sign had fading black ink. It looked years old. The wood has splintered and eroded but the words were clear._

_Shawn' confusion morphed into amusement. He laughed and said, "Of course we're allowed to be here, Silly, I put that sign there."_

_Juliet's jaw dropped. It looked so real. "Shawn—?" But Shawn had already turned and headed through the trees._

" _C'mon, Jules!" he called. Juliet sighed, feeling a slightly cool breeze shift the hair around her face. She rubbed her bare arms and walked past the sign, following Shawn down the sloping land, glad she'd swapped her heels for sneakers before she left her apartment._

_Shawn was waiting for her not too far away. He was leaning against a tree, a thin twig in his mouth like a toothpick. He raised an eyebrow at her in a seductive manner. "Sexy, right?"_

_Juliet laughed, walking up to him, pressing her hand to his chest, pushing him against the tree. The look disappeared from Shawn's face in surprise. Juliet took the twig out of his mouth and traced it lightly down his cheek. She leaned close to him, raising her eyes to his, her lips close to his skin, and whispered, "I'm better."_

" _Not going to argue with that," whispered Shawn, his hand tracing her waist, sending chills down Juliet's spine._

_Juliet smiled and released him, looking around the trees. Rays of orange and yellow shadowed around them. It was a beautiful sunset and the end of a gorgeous day. "Okay, Shawn, you told me you wanted to show me something. What is it?"_

_An almost childlike excitement jumped into Shawn's eyes and he pushed off the tree and took Juliet's hand in his. "This way."_

_Shawn bounded through the trees. Juliet let him tug her through the forest, her interest piqued. After less than a minute of walking, pulling Juliet along behind him, that the trees thinned and opened up._

_Juliet gasped._

_They were standing on almost cliff-like ground. The ground came to a stop five feet from where Juliet stood, and dropped off into one of the most incredible views she'd ever seen. The ocean was spread out in front of her. The sun was setting directly before her, shining deeply, reflecting the colors over the calm waves of the water. There were no boats, people, landmarks, anything in sight. Just water for as far as she could see._

_Juliet shook her head, awed. "Shawn…" she whispered. "Shawn, this is beautiful." She tore her gaze from the horizon and looked at him. The sunset shadowed part of his face, giving him a soft look. He'd been following her gaze, staring out toward the horizon, but he looked at her and smiled. Juliet shook her head, saying, "How did you find this place?"_

_Shawn looked back toward the horizon. "A long time ago," he said, though not quite answering her question. He strode up to the very edge of the cliff and Juliet's breath caught._

" _Shawn, be careful—!" she said quickly, but he just winked, and jumped off the edge._

" _Shawn!" gasped Juliet, running up to the edge. She peered down, terrified, but Shawn was standing five feet beneath her, laughing. The beach wasn't far beneath the ground she was standing on. Juliet glared at Shawn as he pulled himself back onto the little ledge and he sat on it, his legs dangling over the ground below. He laughed at her expression. "Oh, come on, Jules, I was only kidding."_

_Unable to hold onto it, the glare slipped from Juliet's face and she sighed, sitting next to Shawn, close enough that their shoulders touched. Even after all the weeks they've been together, Shawn's touch was enough to skip her heart. Another breeze shifted the air, sifting through her hair and ruffling Shawn's. Juliet shivered at the coolness, and Shawn felt it._

" _Aw, babe," he said, concern clouding in his eyes. He quickly shrugged out of his hoodie. He draped it around her shoulders and she smiled as the warmth hit her bare skin. "Better?" he asked, and Juliet smiled. The jacket smelled like him. She pulled it tight around her._

" _Almost," she said, and Shawn leaned close to her and kissed her on the cheek. Juliet felt a chill as his lips touched her skin._

" _Now, better?" he whispered, close to her ear, his breath tickling her skin._

" _Much."_

_Shawn straightened and they both turned back toward the sun. Juliet shook her head, feeling as if she were looking at a painting. "God, Shawn, how did you find this place?"_

" _By accident," he said with a shrug. "I found it when I was fifteen. I used to sneak out of my dad's house a lot. I always went at night, right after he fell asleep. I'd climb through my window and get on my bike—bicycle-bike, didn't have the Norton yet—and just take off. Of course, my dad was a cop, so he figured it_

_out soon enough. I'd always come home with a sno cone from 7/11 just to throw him off." Shawn laughed softly, and his hand found Juliet's and he intertwined his fingers with hers. "I fell off my bike one night up there," said Shawn, gesturing to where he parked the Norton. "And… voila." He said, gesturing to the sun._

" _So, you come here a lot?" asked Juliet, surprised to see Shawn so… sober. This wasn't a Shawn she was used to seeing._

_Shawn shrugged. "Less now than I used to." Juliet watched another breeze ruffle Shawn's hair. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon and said distantly, "I come here to… clear my head."_

_Juliet cocked her head. "For cases?" she asked._

_Shawn hesitated. "Not exactly. I…" he hesitated again, seeming to have trouble choosing his words. Juliet barely ever saw Shawn struggle with words. He eventually said, "Well, my... psychic brain gets a little haywire sometimes."_

_Juliet blinked. Shawn had never talked about his psychic abilities with her. Sure, he'd mentioned feeling vibrations from cases and visions of victims and criminals, but she'd never heard him actually talk about how it works. "What do you mean?" she asked gently._

_Shawn must have realized that he was starting this conversation, and he hesitated again, giving her a sheepish expression. "It's… it's nothing. It's… complicated."_

_Juliet tilted her head. "Try me."_

_Shawn dropped his gaze to their intertwined fingers. He paused for a while, then raised his head, and said, "I get a lot of… vibrations. Feelings. Sometimes more than one at a time." Shawn shook his head. "Half of them don't even mean anything to me. It's just enough to give me a headache." He looked back at the water, watching the calm waves. "Sometimes it's just nice to be alone, you know, where I'm not around anything that could trigger a vision."_

" _Oh." said Juliet. Definitely not a Shawn she was used to. With Shawn being so animated with his visions for the SBPD, she never would have thought there were downsides to his ability._

_Turns out she knew a lot less about her boyfriend than she thought._

_Shawn gave her a smile, as if reading her mind. Which, Juliet realized, could very well have been the case. "Don't worry, Jules. I didn't even want to mention that. I just wanted to show you this place. I thought you'd like it."_

_Juliet smiled looking at the sun. "Shawn," she asked suddenly. "What do these… feelings… feel like?"_

_Shawn was quiet for a moment. Quiet long enough for Juliet to turn away from the ocean to look at him. He was looking at her, his hand to his head in his trademark I'm-having-a-vision pose. "That's… That's funny that you mention that," he said in a strained voice, one that Juliet had been accustomed to while listening to him relay his visions. Shawn released his hand with a soft grunt of effort. "Well, that's strange."_

_Juliet's heart picked up a little. She never ceased to be amazed with Shawn's ability. "What is it?" she asked eagerly._

_His eyebrows creased. "I'm sensing…" he said, giving her a quizzical look. "That you really want to kiss me right now."_

_Juliet gave Shawn a mock-glare, almost positive that he just made that up to get her to kiss him._

_But she couldn't help thinking how damned right he was._

" _Ha ha," she said. "Very funny."_

" _Well, am I wrong?" asked Shawn, eyebrow raising. His fingers traced circles on her arm, sending tingles down her skin. Juliet met his eyes, feeling herself leaning toward him until their lips were inches apart._

" _I'll let you know," whispered Juliet, feeling Shawn's hand gently brush the hair away from her face, and his arm wrap around her waist. Juliet met his lips and kissed him, letting herself melt into the warmth of his skin and the passion in his kiss._

Juliet jolted awake.

Her back was killing her and she quickly realized why. She was curled up awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head had been resting on the back of the hard back of the chair. She nearly fell off the chair as she tried to right herself. Lifting her head, Juliet felt a painful kink in her neck. Then she remembered the bruises, and she rubbed her neck gently, the tender skin agitated by the position she'd slept in.

It was dim in the room, only lit by a small lamp on a table somewhere behind her. The cool air made her shiver. It took Juliet a moment to remember were she was.

 _Oh_ , she thought, her eyes finding the familiar walls of Shawn's hospital room. Juliet sat up in the chair. The other two chairs in the room were empty and she briefly wondered what happened to Gus and Henry. How long has she even been asleep? She didn't remember falling asleep. Juliet looked around, her gaze resting on Shawn. She felt her heart drop in her chest. Shawn seemed to look even worse than he had when she'd first seen him after his surgery.

Thirty minutes after Dr. Bauer had come into the waiting room to talk to them, Henry, Gus, and Juliet had made their way into Shawn's room. Lassiter had mentioned something about needing to get back to the station. He left a few minutes after Bauer had given them Shawn's news. The walk to Shawn's room had been agonizing and seeing Shawn was a shock. Hours beforehand, Juliet had seen him in the forest, of course, but the lighting had been dim, she'd been solely focused on keeping him safe and he'd been awake—he didn't seem as… weak.

Shawn lay on the bed, his chest slowly rising and falling. His right arm lay in a sling across his chest, slightly shifting with his every breath. Shawn's eyes were shut. Juliet felt her chest tighten at the sight of his face; the bruises seemed even darker now then they had in the forest.

Shawn's blankets were pulled up to his chest, but Juliet could just imagine the bandages wrapping around his torso, remembering the sickening wound on his waist.

And the gunshot wound.

Juliet hadn't seen Shawn in the parking lot the moment he'd been shot. The man had choked her, and at the time she'd been convinced he'd managed to crush her windpipe. She barely even realized it was Shawn who'd pushed her out of the way of the bullet. Juliet had seen the pool of his blood after he'd been rushed to the hospital. The entire car ride to the hospital, Lassiter drove in silence. Juliet had never seen him so ashen. She'd seen the grotesque stains on Gus and Henry's clothes and hands. It was terrifying.

Juliet shivered, hearing Gus' words echoing in her head.  _That bullet wasn't meant for him._ Gus was right. That bullet hadn't been meant for Shawn.

It had been meant for her.

Juliet rubbed the sleep from her eyes, feeling a sharp stab of guilt. Shawn had taken that bullet for her. He'd sacrificed his own  _life_ for her.

Juliet suddenly thought back to the dream she'd just woken from. She had been thinking about that day with Shawn a lot the past few days. Juliet fingered the blankets on the bed, tracing her fingers across the material. She didn't know how she was supposed to feel.

Shawn lied. He lied to her for five years straight to her face. And the worst part?

He did it so  _easily._

She'd believed him without a doubt. From day one, she'd never doubted Shawn's psychic abilities. Juliet wasn't sure if Lassiter had ever been on board with the idea that Shawn was actually psychic, and she was sure Vick was at least on the fence, but with Shawn making progress, what was it to Vick if she truly believed it or not?

Juliet felt foolish. Shawn had paraded around his  _visions_ for years and Juliet felt so utterly stupid for believing them. She was a detective for goodness sake, and she couldn't even catch one of the hundreds of lies Shawn's told over the years.

Her emotions quickly moved from foolish to fear. If Shawn could lie this easily to her about this, what else had he lied about? The fact that he was so damned good at it was the worst of it. He could tell her any number of lies and she'd probably believe him. How was she supposed to trust him after this?

Juliet's eyes dropped to the bandages peaking out from underneath Shawn's hospital gown. Shawn had saved her life. Juliet remembered the moment she found him in that forest. She remembered just how out of it he was—how confused and disoriented the concussion had left him. He'd been in so much pain that he could barely sit up. How the hell he managed to get himself out of the forest in time to save her, Juliet didn't know. Her eyes traces his face, following the bruises, trying to imagine just how much pain he'd been in. Getting himself up and out of that forest must have been pure agony, and yet he did it anyway.

And she's sitting here, telling herself that she can't trust him.

Juliet dropped her face to the blankets, feeling a headache pulse behind her eyes, her conflicting emotions too much to handle. She couldn't deal with it; she didn't know  _how_.

Hearing the door open to Shawn's room, Juliet lifted her head from the blankets. Gus walked through the doorway, holding two coffees in his hands. He gave her a concerned glance when he saw her. "Juliet, everything okay?"

Juliet straightened, rubbing her eyes again. "Yeah, I just... fell asleep." She looked around the room, forgetting that she hand't even looked for a clock. The sky was still dark outside. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost five in the morning." Gus shut the door carefully with his foot, balancing the coffees in his hands. "Lassiter went back to the station around one o'clock to finish interrogating those… bad guys," said Gus, turning back to Juliet. "You fell asleep around twelve-thirty. We didn't want to wake you."

Gus handed Juliet a cup of the steaming coffee and she took it gratefully. She had barely eaten the day before. "Thanks." she said, taking a sip. It was a little bitter for her taste, but she wasn't about to be picky. "Where's Henry?" she asked, taking another sip, the hot liquid singing her tongue. She quickly realized that swallowing hurt. Juliet rubbed her neck again, wincing.

"Mr. Spencer went home to change," said Gus. "He's stopping at Shawn's to pick up clothes for when he's discharged." Gus took a seat beside Juliet, his gaze falling to Shawn's still form. Pain sparked in Gus' eyes. "I can't stand seeing him like this."

Juliet didn't say anything. She didn't know what  _to_  say. After a moment, Gus turned toward her. "You know I didn't mean what I said earlier, right?" he asked softly.

Juliet nodded absently. "It's okay, Gus. I get it." And she did. They were all worried about Shawn, all just looking for someone to blame.

"I don't blame you," said Gus, and Juliet read the sincerity in his eyes. "Not for any of this," he gestured to Shawn, "or even what happened with you and him." Gus paused, seeming to try to choose his words. He looked almost guiltily at Shawn, as if he was afraid Shawn would hear what he said. "I'm not really sure what I'd do with that bombshell Shawn dropped on you. It's… It's got to be a lot to take."

Juliet held her face in her hands. "I just don't know, Gus." she said, shaking her head. "I don't know what to think."

"Do you still love him?"

The leap her heart made in her chest answered the question for her. "I do," she said softly, her eyes tracing Shawn's features as he breathed quietly beside the two of them. "It's just… I've only ever known Shawn-the-psychic, you know?" she said, looking at Gus. "I feel like I don't know who he is anymore."

Gus nodded, but said, "He's still the same Shawn, Jules." He set his coffee down on the table. "He's a bonehead. You knew that already." he said with a smile. Juliet tried to reciprocate his smile, but it didn't come.

"Jules, why don't you go home and get some sleep for a few hours?" he suggested gently, reading her exhaustion. "These chairs are ungodly. Shawn'll still be here when you come back."

Juliet hesitated, then nodded. She stood up and said, "I'll probably have to stop at the station for a few hours tomorrow, but I'll come back here afterward." With one last glance at Shawn, Juliet picked up her jacket and headed out of Shawn's room, letting the door shut quietly behind her.


	14. Chapter 14

Pain.

That was the first thing he knew. It was faint and vague, and couple that with the exhaustion that felt like he'd been asleep for the majority of a decade, it was uncomfortable to the max.

Shawn's journey to reality was slow. His awareness crept back to him, as if he were rising from deep underneath water. Sounds were disjointed echoes. Breathing was suddenly a chore, requiring more effort than usual. Everything felt heavy and sore. Nothing made sense. Especially the fact that the closer he came to waking, the more it seemed to hurt.

It took even longer to convince himself to open his eyes. For some reason, he couldn't remember  _why_  everything hurt. That was definitely worrisome—he usually remembered everything.

Curiosity winning over the pain, Shawn finally cracked his eyes open, and things blurred into view. He was staring at a very white—an almost familiar, pristine kind of white, he thought—ceiling, and his surroundings seemed to come back to him in pixels. The air was cold, stale and an aroma hit him almost instantly. An aroma that was all too obvious.

Hospital.

 _How did I get here?_ wondered Shawn, confusion flooding into his thoughts. He slowly turned his head, then cringed, wondering why his head felt so heavy. The hospital room came into view, the familiar, almost cliché-worthy wires and machinery beside his bed, the bare walls, with a vague patterned wallpaper as if someone had tried (and failed) to make the room seem homey. There was a table beside his bed with a clock, but it wasn't facing him. A few scattered pens and two paper coffee cups were sitting atop the table.

Shawn's eyes shifted from the table to two chairs beside the bed. One was empty.

But the other was not.

"Gus?" whispered Shawn, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. He weakly cleared his throat, cringing as his head pounded. Gus was sitting, his head leaning on the back of the chair, his arms hugging himself. He was asleep.

"Gus," whispered Shawn, trying again to get his friend's attention. Maybe Gus knew why he was in the hospital. But Gus only snored softly in his chair.

Shawn blinked away his exhaustion. Even though he woke up, he didn't know exactly what his body's plan was. He was incredibly tired. He felt sleep tugging at him, threatening to pull him back into oblivion. Shawn fought the exhaustion. He had to at least figure out what happened.

Shawn's eyes found the nightstand again. He scanned the cluttered tabletop and a sluggish idea occurred to him.

Shawn started to lift his right arm, but sudden pain stopped him. His face screwed up in pain, and he immediately relaxed the muscles. He gave himself a moment for the pain to subside, and he looked down at himself. His right arm was in a sling. His eyebrows shot up. What was his arm doing in a sling?

And why did it hurt so much?

Curious, Shawn lifted his left arm. It rose from underneath the blanket and he held his hand in front of his face, turning it slowly before his eyes, but it seemed unscathed.

Even more intent on waking Gus, and finding out just what happened to him, Shawn reached his left hand toward the nightstand, wincing as he jostled his injuries. He clenched his teeth, thinking bitterly,  _hasn't this place heard of painkillers?_

His fingers fumbled on the tabletop, and he eventually grabbed hold of one of the pens. He pulled it back to the bed, relaxing his arm, leaning against his pillows and sighed, pain vaguely pulsing through him. After a few shallow breaths, Shawn looked slowly back toward his sleeping best friend. He grasped the pen tight in his good hand, and begging that he was truly over his past case of the yips, Shawn tossed the pen at Gus.

It hit him in the chest. It wasn't a forceful throw—a pathetic toss, more than anything—but it was enough to startle the man awake. It surprised Shawn how much effort it took to execute the simple movement. Gus shot upright in the chair, his eyes shooting open, his head whipping around. It took him a few seconds to see Shawn.

Gus' eyes lit up, looking more excited than Shawn ever remembered seeing him. "Shawn!"

Shawn gave him a tired smile, feeling the exhaustion weigh down his words. "Hey, buddy."

Gus straightened, any traces of sleep instantly erased from his face. He slid to the edge of his seat, obvious thrill in his voice. "You're awake!" Gus didn't wait another second to hit the call button beside Shawn's bed. Even disoriented, Shawn had a feeling that Gus probably didn't need to press it twenty-seven times.

"Yeah…" said Shawn, slowly examining the hospital room again. "'Bout that…" He tilted his head back to his friend, feeling it increasingly harder to keep his eyes open. He tried to shake the weariness off, at least until he got some answers. "What am I doing here?"

Gus' face fell instantly. "You don't remember?"

 _Remember what_? Shawn slowly shook his head, stopping when he remembered his head hurt. Pain treaded behind his eyes and Shawn raised his good hand to massage his temple. His fingers quickly ran into the stitches on his forehead, and his eyes widened in deeper confusion. "Did something… happen?" he asked, his voice still barely a whisper. He cleared his throat again, trying to strengthen it.

Gus bit his lip. "Well…" he said hesitantly. "You were… kidnapped. From a cab."

It came to him instantly, like suddenly remembering a dream that had slipped his mind. All at once, the cab flashed back to Shawn's mind. The accident. The money. The van.

The parking lot.

Shawn's eyebrows shot up as it came back to him. "Oh." he said, the memories coming back, yet a bit disjointed and fuzzy. "Right." His face screwed up in confusion again. He couldn't remember anything after… after…

"Jules," he said suddenly, his head whipping to Gus, ignoring the lingering headache. The man.

The gun.

"Is she okay?" asked Shawn breathlessly, his voice still barely above a whisper. He tried to pull himself up, desperately whipping his head around the room, as if she was somewhere inside. Pain erupted in his shoulder and side, and he fell back, his good hand clutching his now-burning shoulder. Both injuries singed simultaneously, competing with each other in waves of pain.

"She's fine," said Gus quickly, his hands on Shawn's good arm instantly, pressing him back down, and Shawn felt relief wash through him as the pain slowly dulled. He sighed from the exertion of his dwindling strength. His eyes suddenly snapped opened. If Juliet was fine after the man fired the gun…

"Am  _I_ okay?" he asked suddenly, his eyes dropping back down to the sling.

"You're pretty banged up," said Gus, concern evident in his eyes. He sat back in his chair, seeming satisfied that Shawn wasn't going to launch himself off the bed. His concern made Shawn the slightest bit uncomfortable. Shawn didn't like it when people worried about him.

Gus gave him a smile, seeming to sense Shawn's discomfort. "But the doc said you'll be good as new in a few weeks."

Shawn's eyes dropped back to the sling again. He pieced the fractured memory together, uneasiness rising inside him. "Did I get… shot?"

Something dark slid into Gus' eyes, but he blinked it away. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yeah," he said. "The bullet hit you in the shoulder."

Shawn caught what Gus wasn't saying.  _And it was bad._

Shawn titled his head toward the other side of his room, catching sight of a window. Sunlight streamed through the blinds. He turned back toward Gus. "How long have I been… out?"

That concern was back in Gus' eyes. "A day and a half."

Shawn's eyes widened. He missed almost two days. He eyed Gus. Gus' clothes were wrinkled and…

Shawn gave Gus a look, feeling a déjà vu moment coming. "Is that my shirt?"

Gus rolled his eyes, as if that was the last thing Shawn should have been worried about. "Well—it was _my_  shirt before it somehow ended up at your place." Gus shook his head. "I told you to stop stealing my stuff, Shawn."

Shawn couldn't hide a smile. It really had felt like quite a while since he'd quipped with his best friend. He definitely preferred Gus arguing with him then worrying about him.

Gus shrugged, dropping his lecture with his own grin. "Your dad stopped by your place the night you were…" Gus hesitated, then cleared his throat. "…admitted. You know, to get you some clothes for when you're discharged. I didn't want to leave you, so he brought me some clothes to change into. Mine were kind of… ruined." Gus wrung his hands around each other uneasily.

Shawn felt his exhaustion returning, mixing with a sudden tension at the mention of his father. "So… my dad's here too?"

Gus looked around the room, saying, "Yeah, he was here all day. He must have gotten up when I fell asleep." He turned back to Shawn. "Don't fall asleep yet, Shawn," he said, and Shawn wondered how obviously tired he looked. "Your dad's gonna want to talk to you."

Shawn groaned. "That's never good." Shawn shut his eyes. "Pretend I never woke up."

"No, not like that," Gus assured him. "He was pretty… worried."

Pushing away the exhaustion, Shawn cracked his eyes open again. "Oh."

"I mean," said Gus, "you've been out for about two days. Doc gave you some heavier painkillers in the beginning."

"Speaking of which," mumbled Shawn, feeling the pain creeping up in intensity. "Can I get some more of those?"

Gus' eyebrows furrowed in concern. Shawn hadn't meant to bring concern back into the equation. "The doctor didn't want them to mess with your concussion," said Gus sadly.

Almost as if on cue, the door opened and two hospital personnel walked inside the room. Shawn didn't recognize either one, but even through his headache, he managed to catalogue them. The male was a doctor, whose name tag read Dr. Daniel Bauer. He had messy dark hair and tired eyes, telling Shawn that the man must have worked through the night. He was on the younger side and walked with a sort of acquired confidence, as though being a doctor his age had required him to grow up much faster than he'd been ready to. The woman behind him was a nurse, wearing a name tag that was half-hidden, only showing her first name: Alyssa. She was shorter than Bauer and carried a clipboard with her, seeming to be in her late thirties. A sparkling ring sat on her left hand and her eyes had a vague light to them. Recently engaged.

Shawn rubbed his eyes as Bauer walked up to him and smiled. "Mr. Spencer, it's good to see you awake." He gestured to himself. "My name is Dr. Bauer, this is one of our nurses, Alyssa Walker."

Shawn couldn't help himself. "Congratulations on the engagement."

Alyssa blushed. She shot an incredulous glance to Bauer, then back to Shawn. "How—"

Gus gave Shawn a look that was between annoyance and amusement, when he said, "He's… psychic."

Both raised their eyebrows. "Psychic?" asked Bauer. He nodded, turning to examine the monitor beside Shawn's head. "That's interesting." He nodded to himself, and Shawn fought the urge to shut his eyes. Bauer caught it. "Stay with us for a few more minutes, Mr. Spencer, we just want to examine your faculties for a moment. Then you can rest." He took the clipboard from Alyssa, who was still eyeing Shawn with interest, twisting her new ring around her finger. Bauer looked down at the clipboard and back at Shawn. "Do you know your name?" he asked.

Shawn almost rolled his eyes at the simple question. "Shawn Spencer."

"Do you—"

" _Shawn_!"

The four turned to the now-open door. Henry Spencer was standing in the doorway, a coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He almost dropped both when he caught sight of his son. A smile spread across his worn-expression and he rushed to the bedside, throwing the newspaper on Gus' lap.

Shawn blinked lazily at him, feeling it even harder to stay awake. "Hey, Dad."

Henry smiled, and reached out, putting a hand on Shawn's good arm. "Hey, kid."

"I'll take this as a sign that your faculties are in working order," said Bauer with a grin. He dropped the clipboard to his side. "You have two broken ribs and gunshot wound that seem to be healing properly and shouldn't give you much trouble in a few weeks." Shawn shifted on the bed, and Bauer asked "Are you feeling any discomfort?"

Shawn nodded, then—again—felt that same pain shooting behind his eyes. He needed to remember not to do that. "A bit," said Shawn, through clenched teeth.

"I'll see what we can give you," he said sympathetically. "With head injuries, we don't want to give you too much of anything that can mess with the injury. It would be best, for the time being, at least, that you stay away from alcohol and any illegal drugs—"

"Can… Can I still eat pineapple?" asked Shawn quietly, blinking his eyes back open.

Bauer laughed. "I'm naming drugs, Mr. Spencer. Pineapple is not a drug."

"Sure acts like one," said Shawn with a lazy grin.

"I hear that," agreed Gus, and Shawn weakly formed a fist with his good hand and Gus connected it with his own.

Shawn's arm fell back to the bed and it wasn't long before a blissful unconsciousness took him again.

* * *

"Shawn?"

Shawn reluctantly opened his eyes, waking up cautiously. Consciousness came with pain. His head throbbed dully, and Shawn cringed, turning toward the voice. The room blurred back into view and Shawn wondered how long it had been since he'd first woken. Luckily, he wasn't feeling as exhausted as he'd been the first time he woke up. He was still tired, but he could focus easier this time. Looking over, Shawn realized Gus was no longer next to him, and neither was his doctor or nurse. Instead, it was...

"Hey, Dad." said Shawn tiredly as he examined his father. Henry looked slightly more worn than usual, and Shawn instantly caught notice of a bandaged cut on his father's forehead that he hadn't noticed earlier.  _I have got to figure out what else happened that day,_ thought Shawn vaguely.

"Shawn," whispered Henry. He gave Shawn a smile—the kind of genuine smile Shawn had probably only seen a few rare times in his life. "How are you feeling, son?" The kid-gloves were definitely on.

Shawn tried to shrug, but a sudden jolt of pain erupted in his shoulder. He shut his eyes, clenching his teeth, berating himself for forgetting that moving was painful.

"Easy, Shawn," said Henry, shifting involuntarily to the edge of his seat, seeming to want to help but not know how.

"Peachy…" lied Shawn, bringing his good hand up to rest on his shoulder.

Henry shook his head to himself, and if Shawn wasn't mistaken, he felt like he almost saw tears brimming in his father's eyes.

But that was probably just a trick of the light.

"God, kid," Henry said quietly, "you really scared me."

This was way too serious for comfort. Shawn swallowed his emotions and tried to ignore the look in his father's eyes, saying, "Worse than the… the time I tried to wash your truck with rocks?"

Henry's eyes hardened, just like they always did when Shawn cracked a joke at a bad time. "Shawn—"

"Or when… when I thought the bait from your tackle box were gummy worms?"

"Shawn—"

"Or—"

" _Shawn!"_

Shawn cut off his words in surprise. He hadn't heard that tone from his father in years. It was the tone of voice that immediately preceded being sent to his room, and Shawn almost waited to hear his dad say just that. And even more shocking, Shawn realized what he'd seen in his dad's eyes was not a trick of the light after all.

A tear fell down Henry's cheek.

Henry shifted backward in the chair, seeming just as uncomfortable as Shawn felt. Henry looked back at Shawn, and whispered, "You weren't breathing when we found you."

Shawn carefully shifted on the bed, mirroring his dad's discomfort. "Dad, I'm fi—"

Henry didn't let Shawn finish. "Do you have  _any_  idea how terrifying that was?"

Shawn didn't know what to say. He caught himself before he shrugged again, glad to save him from the pain the movement would have punished him with, and instead mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Henry sighed, and laughed humorlessly. "You don't have to be sorry, son." he said quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. "In fact, I think this is the first time I can't even tell you that you should have been more careful. Or you shouldn't have put your nose somewhere it didn't belong." Henry shrugged. "Trouble just seems to find you, kid."

Shawn couldn't argue with that.

Shawn shifted himself up on his pillows, trying to push himself up. Pain quickly rushed up to meet him, and he froze mid-movement, cringing.

"Shawn, what are you doing?"

Henry's arm was suddenly on Shawn's uninjured shoulder. Shawn slowly turned. "I'm… going home." said Shawn simply. He was awake. He could—maybe not painlessly—move.

And a hospital was the last place he wanted to be.

"Shawn," warned Henry, pushing Shawn back to the pillows, and Shawn reluctantly complied, too tired to fight the pressure. "Two more days."

"But Dad-!" Shawn shut his eyes, leaning back on his pillow.

"Shawn," said Henry tiredly, and for some reason, the soft plea was enough to stop Shawn's complaints.

For now, at least.

"Look, son," said Henry, shifting uncomfortably. "I know that I… I don't say this often enough, but—"

"Dad, it's okay," said Shawn, not wanting the situation to become his dad's version of sentimental. That always ended up awkward. "You don't have to—"

"But I do, Shawn." said Henry. "As terrifying as that moment was to watch you run into that parking lot and…" he trailed off. Shawn fiddled with the edge of the blanket. "I was really proud of you, Shawn." He looked at Shawn and Shawn raised his eyes. "You saved her life, Shawn."

Shawn shifted his eyes back to the blanket, feeling that knot in his chest tighten again. "It doesn't matter."

"Shawn—"

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" he asked so quietly, Henry almost missed it.

Henry sighed sadly. "I'm the wrong person to ask, Shawn. I've never been… good at the relationship stuff."

Shawn shook his head, ignoring the dull pain at the movement. "I'm such an idiot," he whispered. He shut his eyes.

"Yes, you are," said Henry, and Shawn's eyes opened again.

"Thanks." he said shortly, wishing he hadn't brought it up.

"But she knows that," said Henry, resting his hand on Shawn's good arm. "She fell for that idiot."

Shawn didn't respond, his gaze dropping again.

Henry averted his eyes from Shawn. "What your mother did all those years ago, leaving you and me… It hurt, Shawn." Shawn raised his eyes again, meeting his father's. Henry had never mentioned the divorce with Shawn before. At least, not like this. "And it hurt for a while. But, eventually, I forgave her. And I still love her, Shawn," he whispered. He paused, then said, "You weren't there, in the waiting room. You didn't see her, son. You didn't see the look in her eyes." He gave Shawn a soft grin. "It's not over yet, kid."

Shawn looked at his father, willing himself to believe the words. He sighed, resting his head back against his pillows and shut his eyes, feeling his father ruffle his hair, letting himself fall back into sleep.

* * *

Carlton Lassiter was tired.

No, It was more than just tired. He was exhausted. Definitely sleep-deprived. Most certainly aggravated because of the lack of sleep.

That, and a particular psychic who gave him the work that made sleep the lowest on his list of priorities.

Lassiter knew he had a scowl branded on his face. He knew that was his usual look, and he knew that it was even deeper today. It had grown and sharpened over the years due to both practice and the added help of the aforementioned psychic, but the past few days had made him seem positively murderous.

The last time Lassiter had truly slept was the night before Shawn had been taken. The day Shawn was missing felt like the span of at least three days to him. Once the doctor had given news of Shawn's condition, Lassiter went straight back to the station where interrogations were waiting. He didn't have to drag Juliet down for that—he knew enough to let her be for at least the night. Still, he didn't know what happened between her and Shawn…  _romantically_ … he cringed just thinking about it. He didn't even know if he  _wanted_ to know. But, regardless of what broke them up, Juliet clearly still cared for the idiot. In some strange, impossible way, it seemed to Lassiter, she cared about Shawn. He'd spent that entire night with interrogations, getting as many solid facts down for the case as he could. The remaining kidnapper—Javier—did a lot more talking than he'd expected, making Lassiter's life a little easier. Not by a lot, but it certainly helped. Usually, Lassiter reveled in beating the answer out of suspect—metaphorically, of course…  _usually_ —but that night, he was far too stressed to enjoy it. He just wanted it done and over with.

The next morning, he still hadn't gone home yet. Juliet had come into the station sometime during the afternoon. Her eyes were red and she had exhaustion written into her features. Lassiter himself was beyond sleep deprived, but her exhaustion was a different type of tired entirely. He didn't pry. He didn't ask her anything. He just handed her half of the paperwork and they worked in silence to finish closing the case. By the time they'd finished, it was about six at night, and Lassiter was starting to feel his exhaustion hit him full-on. And that was when Vick sent him home.

So, concluded Lassiter needlessly in his thoughts, he was tired.

He slept in this morning, gladly catching up on his sleep, but his phone woke him around noon. Lassiter had been ready to chuck the device across the room when he picked it up, but he didn't; it was a message from Gus.

Shawn was awake.

Not that he would admit it to anyone, but those words had Lassiter feeling like a small weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It surprised him. He'd hated the kid since the day he met him. But… Lassiter was also human, and it was a human response to feel relieved to know an innocent—maybe not incredibly innocent, but close enough to be generally defined as innocent—civilian was okay. So, that was probably it. He was just… acting like a normal human.

Yeah… that somehow sounded way better in theory.

Either way, Lassiter somehow found himself walking through the familiar white walled-hospital a few hours later, donned in his usual faded-black suit, sporting a scowl he could probably trademark as his own.

Because he wasn't here to see Shawn as a friendly visit, no. He was here for work.

Lassiter stopped outside of Shawn's room. Lassiter pushed the door open and walked inside.

Gus was sitting next to Shawn. Henry wasn't in the room, but Lassiter remembered Juliet mentioning that Henry and Gus were taking 'shifts' with the recovering psychic. It must be Gus' turn to babysit the psychic.

Gus looked up as Lassiter walked into the room, and to say he was shocked was an understatement. "Lassiter?" he asked, incredulous, closing his magazine of something Lassiter read to be  _Safecracker's Monthly._

"Gustor," nodded Lassiter. He looked to the bed. Lassiter hadn't seen Shawn since the parking lot, and even then, it wasn't much more than a glimpse of pooling blood. Now that he saw the psychic up close, Lassiter was momentarily shocked. His eyes ran over the darkened bruising on Shawn's face, to the faint stitching on his forehead. The kid had definitely taken a punch. His gaze dropped down to Shawn's arm, resting protectively in a navy sling. Shawn's eyes were closed, and he was pale and still. He didn't look like someone who had woken up.

"How is he?" asked Lassiter, the words surprising him. He'd been prepared to come in, ask his questions to the healing psychic, and get out.

He hadn't planned on caring.

Gus swallowed his shock at seeing the detective, and said, "He's better. Just sore."

Lassiter's eyebrows kneaded. "I thought you said he was awake, Gustor." He eyed Shawn's still form again.

"He—He was," said Gus skeptically, giving Lassiter a once-over. "He's asleep. What do you need, Lassiter?"

"I need his statement." said Lassiter simply. He raised the notepad and file in his hands.

"Can't you do that after he's out of the hospital?" asked Gus, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm doing him a favor," said Lassiter. "I only have to make him relive this once and the sooner I do, the sooner he can forget what happened."

Gus seemed surprised. Lassiter almost did too. Lassiter had always liked getting statements as quickly as possible to ease the pain for the victims.

And now that caring thing was back.

 _No_ , thought Lassiter firmly.  _Spencer is nowhere near a friend to you._

Gus looked over Lassiter's shoulder, as if waiting for someone to come in behind him. "Is Juliet coming too?"

Lassiter shifted his stance. "No." He had wanted to skip this part of the conversation.

Gus' face fell. "She's not going to visit?"

"Look, Gustor," said Lassiter with a sigh. He'd point blank asked Juliet if she wanted to come to the hospital with him. But she'd just looked back down at whatever she was working on and mumbled something about having to finish it. "I don't know what crap went on between Spencer and O'hara, and I don't want to. But she's obviously still not over it." Gus sighed and Lassiter lifted his notepad. "Now, do you mind?"

Gus gave Lassiter a small glare, then lifted himself from the chair and left the room.

Lassiter slowly took more steps toward Shawn's bed. The psychic's silence was unnerving. It was a welcome silence, of course, compared to the yammering he usually got from the kid. He took a seat in the chair Gus had vacated. Silence, yes. But the stillness?

That was a bit too much.

Lassiter sighed, realizing Shawn wasn't just going to wake up on his own. He cleared his throat. "Spencer."

Shawn didn't move.

Lassiter narrowed his eyebrows and raised his voice a notch. "Spencer."

Shawn's head tilted. It took a moment for consciousness to return to the younger man. Shawn's eyes fluttered open after a few seconds, and he sluggishly took in his surroundings, his gaze landing on Lassiter. His features twisted in confusion. "L'ssie?" he mumbled sleepily. He rubbed his eyes with his good hand. He suddenly sunk warily back into his pillows and eyed Lassiter suspiciously.

"What?" snapped Lassiter.

"Are you…" began Shawn, and Lassiter was surprised to hear the slightly rough tone of his voice. "Are you here to... finish me off?"

Lassiter gave him a look. "What? No, Spencer, what makes you think that?"

Shawn blinked. "Opportunity." He gave the room another scan. "No… witnesses."

"Shut up, Spencer," snapped Lassiter, and he pulled out his notepad and clicked his pen. "I'm here to take your statement."

"Pineapple is the national fruit of New Zealand."

Lassiter fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Not just  _any_  statement, moron, I'm talking about what happened to you the other day. We can't charge anybody with anything unless we have written proof that these crimes were—"

"Yeah, yeah," said Shawn, waving his good hand slowly, dismissing Lassiter's words. "I know how a statement works, Lassie, I was just trying to diffuse the tension. You seem uptight. More uptight than usual."

"I'm just tired," said Lassiter, clicking his pen. "Look, Spencer, I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be, so let's just get this over with."

To Lassiter's surprise, Shawn didn't have an argument for that. He just leaned back on his pillow and absently massaged his shoulder. Lassiter felt a twinge of pity, but he quickly discarded it. He looked down at his file. "Okay, Spencer, tell me everything you remember."

"It's not a very clear picture, Lassie," said Shawn seriously, his voice lacking the amusement it had moments before, and he realized it was laced with a mixture of exhaustion and pain. Lassiter had always wished Shawn would take things seriously and ,well, grow up. But the sudden lack of playfulness from the psychic was just… wrong. Shawn cleared his throat and said, "Maybe if you told me what you know, it could help fill in the gaps."

"Well," said Lassiter, "I spent five hours with the last kidnapper of yours in an interrogation room—"

"Last?"

"The other two had been killed."

"Killed?" asked Shawn, eyebrows shooting up. He obviously didn't know anything about the other side of what happened.

"Yeah," said Lassiter slowly, "the last living guy. Name was Javier Blitek. Sang like a bird when I told him we had him on the attempted murder charges of your father and Gustor—"

"The  _what_?!" exclaimed Shawn, eyes widening.

Lassiter sighed. This meeting wasn't going to be as in-and-out as he'd hoped. Lassiter—as quickly as he could—relayed everything from his side of the story, beginning with he and Juliet checking out the scene of the accident, to the cab station, and finally to the chase through the woods. Shawn had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout Lassiter's monologue. "And then you… ran into the parking lot." finished Lassiter, feeling like leaving out the end of that story.

It didn't take as long for Shawn to give his statement. He only seemed to remember the vaguest details, what with the concussion messing up his mind. Luckily enough, Shawn was able to match the name for one of the dead kidnappers—Trent. They'd ID'd the man as Trent Wahler.

"The other man's name was Jared Kenner." said Lassiter. "He, Javier Blitek and Trent Wahler were soldiers for the U.S. Army. They'd stolen weaponry from—"

"—the Forces and sold them through the Indian cab driver I ended up calling," finished Shawn, nodding. "I had a vision," he explained. "In the van. I just don't get one thing. My driver, Juan, said that he'd traded the weaponry for the money but then lost it at the station. Who took it?"

"We held this scrawny kid—Hal—in the station all night. He turned out to be the nephew of the owner—Ian Halling— of the cab station. When we caught up with Uncle Ian, we eventually got him to admit he'd found the black market money and took it for himself, hiding it in his office where he thought no one would find it." Lassiter shrugged. "And no one would have if you hadn't gotten yourself kidnapped."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Is that a… compliment?"

Lassiter mirrored his incredulity. "Not even close." He shut his file, having gotten all the information he needed. He stood, then hesitated. "Spencer… you took that bullet for O'hara." He looked at the psychic, his scowl gone. "That was…" He trailed off, and instead of finishing it, he started to walk out.

"That was  _what_ , Lassie?" asked Shawn as Lassiter reached the door. "You can't leave me hanging like that."

Lassiter looked over his shoulder. "It was brave, Spencer. It was something that I'm sure a lot of self-respecting officers would not have done."

"Lassie…" said Shawn slowly. "Was  _that_  a compliment?"

Lassiter grasped the door handle and hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. "Only inside this room."

And with that, he left.

* * *

Shawn watched Lassiter leave, and he laid his head back on his pillow. But before the door had even fully shut, Shawn saw a familiar dark-skinned hand shoot in between the door and doorframe, catching it. Gus walked into Shawn's room, looking back in the direction Lassiter left.

Gus jabbed a thumb weakly behind him. "Did Lassie…  _talk_  to you?"

Knowing by now that shrugging—or any movement of his head—would hurt him, Shawn just said, "Yeah. And he didn't smother me with a pillow or anything."

Gus raised his eyebrows, as if impressed. He took a seat beside Shawn's bed.

"Lassie told me you were almost murdered?" asked Shawn, eyebrows hitching upward.

Gus shrugged. "Uh—yeah. The bastard tried to kill me and your dad. But Lassiter shot him in the arm before he could."

"A near-death situation?" said Shawn, impressed. "I'm so proud of you, buddy." Shawn felt his serious-Shawn-moment come before it did. "Thanks for coming after me."

Gus smiled. "No problem, Shawn. I know you'd do the same for me."

Shawn grinned. "You know that's right." Again, the clock was nowhere near to facing Shawn, so he asked, "What time is it?"

"Almost eight," said Gus, settling himself into the chair, pulling out a fishing magazine from underneath him, looking at it quizzically. It was unmistakably Henry's. Gus tossed it on the empty chair, looking back at Shawn. "How are you feeling?"

"All better," said Shawn instantly. "Can I go home now?"

"Shawn," said Gus in a warning tone, "you know the doctors want you to stay here until at least tomorrow night. It's only one more day—"

"But, Gus," whined Shawn. "I've already missed, like, three days out of my life, here!"

"Shawn, you once spent a full week sitting in your front yard watching the grass to see how fast it grew."

"That was different, Gus, I was trying to prove to my dad that it grew far too slowly to make me cut the lawn every single week. And I was right."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn, you're hurt. Have you forgotten what happened to you?"

" _No,_ " sighed Shawn, pressing back into his pillows, trying to fend off a headache. "I haven't. And being here isn't  _helping_  me to forget it."

Gus didn't reply. He shifted in the chair uneasily.

There's been something eating at Shawn ever since he'd opened his eyes. "Do you know if she's going to…" Shawn hesitated, his eyes drifting to a loose thread on his blanket, then said, "visit?"

"I…" began Gus, hesitating, sitting back in the chair. "I think Juliet got… held up in the station."

"Oh—right," said Shawn absently, not meeting Gus' eyes. He wanted to believe his friend's lie, but Gus' tells were all too obvious to Shawn. Just this once, he wished he didn't notice.

"She was here," said Gus, and Shawn's eyes rose quickly to meet Gus', and he ignored the sharp pain at his temple. Gus gestured the chair beside Shawn's bed. "She stayed all through the night when you were admitted. She didn't leave until I told her to."

Shawn's eyes travelled back to the loose thread. He fingered it with his good hand. "But she hasn't… since I woke up."

"Shawn—"

"Is she still… mad?"

Gus opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, seeming unsure how to choose his words. But that was enough for Shawn to get the gist.

"Shawn," said Gus finally, "Juliet isn't mad, she's hurt. I think she just needs time."

Shawn didn't reply. Gus put a hand on his arm. "I'll be back in the morning. Seven am sharp. I'll wake you up whether you want it or not." He gave Shawn a smile.

Shawn returned it, half-heartedly. "Thanks, buddy."

Shawn watched Gus leave, and settled back into the bed, trying to get comfortable. But that was the problem. It was impossible to find a position that didn't put strain on either his shoulder or his ribs. Shawn gave up, and shut his eyes to the semi-darkness, hating the silence. He wasn't as exhausted as he was before, and his thoughts were starting to gain speed, but he tried to fight them. He didn't want to think.

Juliet didn't show. The ache in Shawn's chest was suddenly back, competing with his other injuries. Shawn tried to convince himself that her showing up to the hospital and staying in his room the first night meant something. It must, right? She wouldn't have stayed if she didn't care.

 _Of course she cares,_ a voice in the back of his mind told him.  _Of course she cares about you. That's why what you did hurt her so bad._

Shawn shut his eyes again, drawing his good arm over them to block out the light from the window. He kicked himself, for what seemed like the millionth time that week. The last thing he'd  _ever_ wanted to do was hurt Juliet. He fell in love with her five years ago, and he'd only ever wanted to be the one to protect her from anything that would hurt her.

And he'd failed, in the very worst way.

Juliet was the only one who'd believed him from the beginning. She had undying trust in him.

And he broke it.

Shawn sighed. Of course, weeks into his relationship with her, he'd considered telling her the truth. But he couldn't see how that conversation would go well. He couldn't very well just take her to dinner and casually let her know that he's been lying to her for the past five years. And what if she'd never found out? Was he seriously going to keep up the psychic charade  _forever_?

He just wanted her back. His desire to hold her was so,  _so_ strong that it seemed to tie an even tighter knot in his stomach. He wanted her forgiveness, so badly, he couldn't think of anything he wouldn't do to get it back.

Shawn's arm fell back to his side and he blinked his eyes open. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't lie in this place for another second while his thoughts tortured him.

Shawn lifted his head, glad to feel less heavy than he had twelve hours ago. He pressed his good hand into the stiff mattress of the bed, pushing himself a few inches off the bed.

The pain was sudden and he didn't expect it. Shawn clamped his mouth shut to stop the groan of pain that threatened to escape him. He held himself up, leaning heavily on his good arm, the pain in his side quieting to a subdued burn. Shawn took a breath, then pushed himself up higher until he was in a sitting position. Glad that he didn't have any injuries below the waist, Shawn slowly shifted his legs off the bed, his good arm pressing firmly against his side. He moved cautiously, and luckily, the motion wasn't enough to jostle his ribs too much.

Shawn sat on the edge of the bed, and suddenly felt better than he had in a long time. Freer. He'd been confined to the van, confined to the apartment, and now confined here. The impersonal atmosphere of the hospital was suffocating. He just wanted out.

With one sweep of the room, Shawn located the clothes that his dad brought for him peeking out of the drawer in the nightstand by his bed. He slowly and cautiously pulled himself to his feet.

He was getting out of this place tonight.

* * *

Juliet stood in front of the doors to the hospital. She was hesitating. Stalling, really, if she were being honest with herself.

It was almost nine o'clock at night now, and the sunlight was fading. There weren't many people outside, but visiting hours were almost up and they soon would be, and the last thing Juliet wanted was a dozen strangers asking her why she was frozen solid, standing in front of a hospital.

Gus had called her just after eight in the morning. She'd been sitting at her desk in the station, filling out the last of the paperwork as she and Lassiter finished up the cases Shawn had ended up solving. The day beforehand, she'd been swamped at the station, the interrogations and statements required to close the cases seemed countless. Shawn was still unconscious yesterday. She'd kept her phone next to her in case Gus texted her with an update, but none came.

Not until this morning.

She didn't even have a whole lot of paperwork left. She could have left at noon and visited him. She could have gone with Lassiter. Easily. So very, very easily.

And yet here she was, her feet teetering on the sidewalk in front of two very simple doors.

She wanted to visit. She did. She was thrilled when Gus called, thrilled that Shawn was okay and conscious. She still did care about him, of course.

But she hadn't talked to Shawn for days. It wasn't as if she could strike up a casual conversation with him. She was still upset about what happened. That hasn't gone away. Though… Shawn  _did_  just sacrifice his own life for hers. Was she really going to just ignore that?

Juliet sighed audibly, making a decision and pushed through the doors to the hospital. She walked numbly through the lobby and rode the elevator to the second floor—Shawn's floor. Juliet had just stepped off the elevator when she heard a familiar voice.

"—is that? You just let him walk out?"

Juliet turned the corner, finding herself in the reception area of the second floor. Henry and Gus were facing a male doctor about a foot taller than each of them. Henry's face was red with frustration. Juliet hurried over.

"Henry?" she asked, and the three turned to look at her. "What's wrong?"

"Shawn left," said Gus worriedly. "His room is empty."

"We let him leave," said the doctor quickly, as if trying to make sure Juliet knew he wasn't losing track of patients.

"He was supposed to be discharged tomorrow!" said Henry, glaring at the doctor again.

"Yes, Sir," said the doctor, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "But, legally, we can't force any patient to stay here if they don't—"

"So you just let him  _leave_?!"

"We contacted you as a courtesy," said the doctor. "Please—"

"He left an hour ago," said Gus to Juliet, cutting off the argument. "He's not home, he's not at Psych—"

"With traumatized patients, some need some time alone," said the doctor in exasperation. "You know, to clear their heads after everything they've gone through."

_Clear their heads._

"Oh," said Juliet, revelation dawning on her. The three looked at her. Juliet cleared her throat. "I think I know where he is."


	15. Chapter 15

Juliet parked her car, the engine cutting quietly, enveloping her in the silence of the nearing dusk. She slowly got out, hoping she'd remembered the way correctly. It looked the same as it had last time.

She shut her door with a small snap and winced at the sound, feeling as if breaking the silence was somehow wrong. She knew why Shawn'd chosen this place to come to clear his head.

It really was the perfect getaway.

Juliet left her car, and walked off the road, down into the hollow forest. A few feet over, she caught the familiar  _No Trespassing_ sign. She was in the right place.

Continuing her walk through the forest, Juliet felt herself reliving the events of the other night. The apartment building's woodland, her panicked search for Shawn within the trees, her heart slamming against her chest. She shook her head, discarding the memories. She didn't even know for sure if Shawn  _had_  come here tonight, but it would make sense. His motorcycle wasn't anywhere nearby but, Juliet reasoned, broken ribs and only one arm made it a bit challenging to ride a motorcycle. Though… that could easily be a challenge Shawn would accept.

Juliet walked further through the forest, not even sure she was following the correct way. The sunlight was just about gone and the moon was making its appearance. The air was getting a bit chillier and she fought a shiver, realizing that, just like last time, she'd forgotten to bring a jacket.

What was she supposed to say to him? Juliet sighed. She remembered the moment she found that brochure in his jacket pocket, the realization that felt like ice in her heart. Like she'd fallen in love with a stranger.

Juliet hesitated in her walk, leaning against a tree, her back pressing against the rough bark and she shut her eyes, rubbing her temples. Well, she knew one thing for sure. She wasn't angry anymore. Not like she had been in the beginning. For the days that followed Lassiter's wedding, she'd been furious. She'd barely slept; she could still smell Shawn's cologne in her sheets, and she'd ended up deciding to crash on her couch instead. All of those jagged emotions, all of the hurt, all of the anger had been haunting her.

Until Shawn was taken.

Now? She didn't feel angry anymore. Everything that happened that day changed that. Yes, he lied. But he also just put his very  _life_  on the line for her.

Even so, she couldn't shake the horrible feeling that everything they were, everything she loved about him, was somehow just as fabricated as his psychic abilities. She felt like she didn't even know who he  _was_ anymore.

Juliet picked herself up and she continued through the forest, feeling even more at a loss for words. She took a deep breath. If she found him here, the words would come.

She hoped.

And suddenly the trees opened up, and that breathtaking ocean took over the view. Juliet felt a pull in her chest at the sight. It truly was something. The sun was almost beneath the horizon now, casting soft, faded rays across the water. The moon was high in the sky. A full moon. The sheen moonlight reflected off the gentle waves.

Taking another step forward, Juliet dropped her gaze. And there he was.

Shawn's back was to her. He was sitting just as he had those weeks ago, when he'd brought her here. He was wearing the sling, the navy strap almost blending into his dark t-shirt. Shawn's posture was slightly scrunched forward, as if his position was painful. Juliet felt a wash of pity. It probably was.

Taking a breath, Juliet walked up behind him. Shawn didn't notice her until she was only a few feet away. He turned quickly, whipping his head around, but seemed to forget his condition. He winced, eyes shutting and teeth clenching.

Juliet's face fell. "Oh—I'm sorry," she mumbled, realizing that after everything he'd just gone through, he'd probably become a bit paranoid. "I didn't mean to startle you." She stopped behind him, her hands clasped nervously behind her.

The pain slowly left Shawn's features. The bruises hadn't begun to fade yet, and he still looked fragile. He didn't look like the fun-loving Shawn she was used to seeing.

He looked broken.

Shawn looked at her in confusion. "Jules?"

"I…" began Juliet, hesitating. Shawn waited, his soft gaze burning into her eyes.

Hadn't she convinced herself that the words would come naturally?

"I thought I'd find you here," she said quietly, feeling the slight breeze tug at the hair around her face, and she brushed it away.

Shawn gave her a small smile, giving some life to his bruised features. Juliet hadn't seen that smile in ages.

Juliet bit her lip. "Do you… mind if I join you?"

Shawn looked at her, surprised. If Juliet wasn't mistaken, it was more than just surprise in his eyes.

It was hope.

"Y-Yeah," he said quickly, stumbling over his words. "By all means, Jules. Please."

Juliet took a few steps closer and lowered herself to the ground a few feet away from him. She let her legs hang over the edge of the small ledge. She looked around, feeling the breeze tickle her face again. Juliet suddenly felt Shawn's gaze on her, and her eyes slowly turned back to him. He was almost studying her, and his face quickly fell. "Jules—are you okay?"

The bruises on her neck. Juliet felt her hand instinctively move up to her throat and absently massage the tender skin. She cleared her throat, self-conscious under his steady gaze. "Uh, yeah. It's fine now. Doesn't hurt too much," she said, dropping her hand, lamely dismissing his concern. Looking at him, taking in his weakened state, Juliet felt like her subtle injury was the last thing he should be worried about. She gave him a skeptical look, suddenly curious. "Shawn, how did you get here?"

"Cab."

Juliet's jaw dropped. "A  _cab_? Shawn, are you serious?"

"It's not like I called the same cab station."

Juliet and Shawn were quiet for a moment, her incredulous gaze meeting his indifference. After a few seconds, Shawn's lips titled upward and Juliet felt her own mirror him.

Only Shawn.

They lingered eye contact for a moment more, then broke away, both turning back to the ocean, smiles fading. Juliet's eyes traced the rhythmic movement of the water, and she felt anxiety flitting in her veins. She missed him. She missed his humor, his quirks, his eyes, his scent, his everything. And here he was, sitting two feet away from her. So close she could touch him.

Juliet's fingers twisted the grass underneath her palm. Her eyes slowly crept back to him, eyeing the sling and bandages. She caught notice of his good arm resting protectively around his side, the muscles in his arm flexed and tense. His hand was twisted in his shirt, as if he were trying to alleviate the pain.

"How are you feeling?" asked Juliet, her own concern etching into her features. He didn't look like someone who should be out of a hospital yet. He looked tired.  _Not just tired,_ thought Juliet,  _exhausted._

Shawn didn't answer right away, and Juliet saw his arm relax slightly, as if he realized he'd just been caught and was trying to hide it. "I'm fine," he said simply, though his arm quickly tensed again and he couldn't hide a cringe.

"You don't look fine," said Juliet in a quiet voice.

Shawn turned his head, casting his gaze away from her. "It doesn't matter. I… deserve it."

Juliet's jaw nearly dropped at his words. "Shawn—" she said, shaking her head, speechless. "No one deserves what you went through," she whispered.

Shawn didn't reply. He just kept staring at the water, his expression as empty as the night sky.

"Why did you leave?" asked Juliet quietly, not exactly sure what to say.

Shawn shrugged, and Juliet watched pain flash through his eyes at the movement. She and Shawn were quiet for another moment, the air only filled by the sound of the gentle waves rhythmically hitting the shore below them and the breeze shifting the leaves on the trees behind them, as if the very nature was uncomfortable with the quiet. Juliet took a tentative breath, and broke the silence.

"Shawn," she said softly, "what you did—"

"I know." Shawn's eyes were shut. His muscles tensed again, but this time, it wasn't out of physical pain. "I know, Jules, I messed up. Bad. I lied to you and I—"

"No, Shawn," said Juliet quickly, stopping him. He opened his eyes and tilted his head toward her, puzzlement clearing his self-loathing. "That's not what I meant." clarified Juliet. "I meant… you saved my life that night."

Shawn's expression relaxed slightly, and if she wasn't mistaken, he seemed… uncomfortable. "It's fine, Jules. You don't need to—"

"Thank you."

Shawn only looked at her, but he didn't say anything.

Juliet shut her eyes and took another breath. "I've… I've given everything a lot of thought." Shawn's face fell the smallest bit. So small that she almost missed it. Juliet sighed, deciding to just dive right in. "It was a shock, Shawn. A huge,  _huge_  shock. And… it hurt." Juliet hesitated, trying to choose her words. "It's not something that I can just… bounce back from." Juliet watched the hope disintegrate from Shawn's eyes. They looked at each other for a long time, and even in the pale moonlight, Juliet could read the pain in his eyes. Not from the gunshot wound, not from the broken bones. A much deeper kind of hurt. She'd never seen Shawn so…  _raw_. Ever since Juliet had met him, he was the carefree, borderline childish spirit who lived with no regrets. But what she saw in his eyes now, what seemed to darken his very gaze, was just that: pure, unadulterated regret.

"Shawn, it's just…" Juliet hesitated again, clawing through her thoughts, searching for the words. "I feel like I don't really… know you."

"I'm still the same person, Jules," whispered Shawn, looking at her with a brokenness that hit her straight in the chest. "I'm the same person you met in that diner. I'm the same person whose seat you stole five years ago. That hasn't changed." He shifted his position, then cringed, hugging his arm tighter around himself. It took Shawn a moment to continue. "I  _know_  I lied. I know it was wrong." He shut his eyes. "But I'm still the same person." He opened his eyes and shook his head to himself, and Juliet watched pain flash through his eyes again, and he halted his movement, wincing. "I'm still  _me_ , Jules." Shawn sighed. "I'm just not… psychic."

"Then how do you do it?" asked Juliet quietly.

Shawn looked at her, puzzled. "Do… what?"

"If you're not psychic," she said, looking at him. "How do you  _do_ it?" The question had been floating around in her thoughts for days. So many memories cascaded through Juliet's mind in an instant. All the times Shawn had just seemed to know everything about everything, how he could know things about  _her_  as if by… magic.

Shawn's eyebrows shot up, obviously not expecting that question. He straightened, wincing as he did, lines of pain creasing his face. He turned his gaze toward the water, the moonlight shining silver light over his face. "Well," he said, seeming to be trying to collect his thoughts. "Full disclosure." His lips twitched and he took a breath before saying, "I have an… eidetic memory."

Juliet looked at him. "What… Like a photographic memory?"

"Yeah."

That was one of the last things she'd expected to hear him say. Though… what  _had_  she expected him to say? "So… You remember, like,  _everything_?" asked Juliet incredulously.

"In a nutshell." he said. Shawn hesitated, letting the foliage behind them fill the temporary silence again. After a moment, he said, "I can remember every single case file I've ever read, from my first case with the SBPD to the first case I'd swiped from my Dad's stuff when I was seven. I can remember them in perfect detail. Down to the number of commas on each page. Every case. Every client. Every conversation I've ever had." Shawn kept his gaze fixed on the ocean. "I never studied. Didn't have to. I memorized textbooks at first glance."

_Lassiter is just being childish about his detective exam score._

_Wait, the D.E.T.? I took that when I was fifteen. Got a hundred._

Juliet blinked. Shawn had mentioned that he'd gotten a perfect score on the detective's exam. At the time, she never questioned it. She just assumed it was a… psychic thing.

Shawn's intense gaze was suddenly back on her, and he said, "I can remember the day we met. You were wearing that sweater—the coral-colored one with the little white buttons—that you like to wear on dates."

"Shawn…" breathed Juliet. She couldn't remember a single detail about her clothes from that day. Or his. Or anyone else's, for that matter. "That's…" She shook her head, unable to find a word.

"You had long hair then," he said quietly. "You were sitting four stools in. There were seven people seated at that diner. Two waitresses. You accused me of being one of those 'weirdos who go to the same restaurants, sit in the same seats and order the same things.' You had that leather-band watch that you wear only on stakeouts or stings, so I always assumed you wore it for good luck." He faintly smiled to himself. "You wore it on our first real date."

Juliet shook her head, incredulous. Nearly speechless. She had no idea he'd ever paid that much attention to her. "And you remember it all?" she whispered. "Every single moment?"

"Can't forget it." said Shawn simply, lifting his good hand to lightly massage his shoulder. "Sometimes I'll just start recalling memories for no reason, and I can't control re-watching them. It's like those stupid ads on YouTube that don't let you skip them after five seconds." He sighed. "Half the time it's more than one at a time and it's just… overwhelming."

_I come here to clear my head. I get all of these visions, sometimes more than one at a time, and it's just enough to give me a headache._

Juliet shook her head, thinking back to the day he'd brought her here. He hadn't been talking about his  _visions_ , he'd been talking about his  _memory._

"Shawn… That sounds… exhausting," whispered Juliet.

Shawn shrugged again, and Juliet watched him cringe and lower his hand back to his side. A wave of annoyance flitted through his eyes as if he was tired of forgetting that it hurt to move. "That's why I started coming here." he said, his gaze tracing the darkened horizon. "There isn't much to… memorize." said Shawn quietly. "No people to catalogue. No hats to count."

"But… why did you bring  _me_  here, then?" asked Juliet.

He gave her a soft look. "I don't mind memorizing you."

Juliet felt her cheeks heat up. She met Shawn's gaze, and he looked at her with pure sincerity in his eyes. "Jules… I miss you." He started to instinctively reach for her hand with his good arm, but stopped halfway, seeming to second-guess his decision. He pulled it back to his side. "I'll… understand if you…" he hesitated, seeming to not want to say the words. "If you want us to… end." He whispered the last word so quietly that Juliet barely heard him. He looked at her again. "But… I can't lose you, Juliet. Please, at least let us stay… friends." He swallowed hard, and Juliet saw the moisture in his eyes. "I… I don't know what I'd do without you."

Juliet looked at him for a long moment. "I still love you, Shawn."

Shawn couldn't hide his surprise. "You do?" he whispered.

"I do," she said. "It's just… I just need—"

"Space," said Shawn quietly, his gaze falling back to the water.

"No, Shawn," she said, shaking her head as he met her eyes. "Not… anymore." She shifted uncomfortably, feeling the slightest remnant of guilt hit her. "I'm just going to need some time." She turned her gaze back to the water. "I guess things between us just don't come… easily."

"Maybe," said Shawn softly, "the best things in life, the  _richest_  things... aren't supposed to come easily."

Her words. The exact words she'd said to him that day at the drive-in, after the fiasco with Yang, when she first told Shawn how she felt about him. Juliet turned to Shawn, looking at him in wonder as he continued, "And the moments that make the most sense—"

"—happen when everything else doesn't," whispered Juliet, shaking her head, feeling that warmth in her chest—the warmth she felt only when it came to Shawn—for the first time in days.

Juliet shifted soundlessly across the grass, closing the inches between them, resting her head gently on his good shoulder. She fell into Shawn's warmth, feeling him tense the slightest bit, surprised by her touch. He slowly wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, and they watched the moonlit waves gently strike the shore. Juliet listened to the sound of his breathing, the familiar thrum of his heart beating through their touch, feeling his thumb caress the back of her hand the way he always did. She intertwined her fingers with his and shut her eyes, melting back into him, erasing every last breath of lingering space between them.


End file.
